Mine
by KassyMalone
Summary: France loved England, but not in a romantic way. Things changed, however, when he saw other countries getting closer to his petit lapin. When he makes his move, however, he finds those other nations aren't willing to give up so easily. Rated 'M' for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

A short story in the FRUK vein. I'm writing a longer story where their relationship is loving-but-chaste, and to be honest, I kinda wanted to write something like this, but not actually in that story. I wanted it to be a little darker, though. If I get 10 reviews, I'll take the concept further and explore the darker elements I've got in mind.

* * *

**Mine.**

The meeting dragged on worse than normal. All France wanted to do was sleep, and the close, stuffy air of the room wasn't helping. He had been under the weather recently – nothing serious, mind you, just a flu, but it wasn't entirely gone. He was still slightly achy, and his eye lids were heavy. He had stopped paying attention to the speakers a long time ago, doodling and shuffling his papers. He rested his head in his palms and stared into space, feeling himself drop further and further asleep. Just as his consciousness lapsed away from him, he was bought back by a small, ice-cold palm gently being placed on his forehead. England didn't look at him as he checked his temperature, but kept staring at the speaker, before removing his hands and scribbling some notes.

France smiled. He knew England so well. Upon hearing the older nation was ill, he hopped the channel to 'take care' of him until his flu was gone. 'You shouldn't be on your own when you have the flu, idiot!' he chastised France as he poured him a hot tea with milk. Since he was sick, Arthur (thankfully) kept the food simple enough that even he couldn't screw it up, sat with him when the fever and shaking was as its worst, and took care of the house until France was well enough to be back on his feet. It wasn't the first time England had done this for him, and France had done the same on the odd occasion that England was ill. It was a routine, a never-spoken-of act of affection between the two that only they knew about.

England passed France a scribbled note. 'Are you feeling alright?' the paper asked in perfect calligraphy. France smiled at England, although he knew he was still pale. Finally, the meeting came to an end, and everyone started chatting and packing away their notes.

"You're not looking your best." England pointed out quietly "You should have an early night."

"Is that an offer, _petite lapin_?" France winked at him.

"Don't joke about when you're sick." He warned "It's not gentlemanly to punch a sick person."

France tried to laugh, but ended up coughing. Spain and Prussia bundled over with their usual fervour to see if France wanted to go drinking with them, but were sent away by a stern England. The Brit drove him straight back to the hotel, picking up a menu for the room service in the lobby on the way. Feeling dizzy, Francis leant against the walls of the elevator to steady himself, the motion adding to his disorientation. England placed his hand on Frances arm to steady him. As they reached their floor, France leant on England entirely, letting the smaller man almost carry him down the hall and into his room.

France managed to change on his own, getting into bed without complaint as England prepared him some medicine. Properly medicated, England put the television on quietly and sat in the chair beside the bed. Taking the opportunity where it presented itself, France took Englands hand to get his attention.

"Will you lie in the bed with me, _mon lapin_?"

"Huh? Why?"

"I won't do anything." He promised "I'm just feeling a little sorry for myself."

England regarded him closely for a moment, then sighed, kicking off his shoes and taking off his tie before plopping himself down beside France. He stayed sitting, back against the head board, and France wrapped his arms around his narrow waist and buried his head in his lap, and they quietly watched the news.

* * *

_Canada. Seychelles. Guernsey and Jersey_. _Haiti_. Dominican Republic. _America?_

"Hey, Francy-pants! You feeling better?" Prussia bounced in.

"_Oui_, thank you Prussia." Francis greeted, turning away from his list for a moment.

"Good! Then you'll come drinking with us tonight,_ ja_?"

"Sorry, not tonight. I don't think I should go drinking until I'm completely better."

"Pfft, you're no fun."

Prussia plonked himself in the chair next to France and looked at his list.

"What's that? America's not yours."

"What?"

"The others are your kids, right?" Prussia knew "America was practically an adult when you had any influence over him."

"Ah, you 'ave me figured out." France admitted "I lost my diary, so I 'ave to write down all the kids birthdays before I forget."

Prussia laughed.

"Papa France sure is devoted." He teased.

"Family's important." Was Frances response.

The door opened, and the other countries started to file in for the meeting. Prussia was quite comfortable where he was, thank you, so stayed put, and England sat himself on Frances other side, placing a glass of water and a blister pack of pills in front of the Frenchman. France simply smiled to himself and continued his list.

* * *

After the meeting, America launched himself at England immediately, monopolizing his time like a greedy child. France shuffled papers as long as he could, but eventually had to interrupt, slinking his arms over Britains shoulders and leaning almost all his weight against the smaller man.

"Britain, I feel dizzy." He lied, voice full of shaking "Will you drive me back to the 'otel?"

"Didn't you take your medicine?" Britain chastised.

"_Oui,_ I did, but I think I might be getting worse." He pouted, wrapping his arms tighter around his prey.

Britain sighed.

"Very well. But I swear, if this drags on, I'm going home without you – maybe that will motivate you to get better."

"_Oui,_ per'aps."

"Hey, that's great!" America declared "You can drop him off at the hotel on the way, kill two birds with one stone!"

"On the way where?" France asked.

"America's insisting on going to some restaurant across town for dinner." England explained "Apparently, hotel food isn't good enough for him."

"It's probably a McDonalds." France knew.

"It's totally not!" America went bright red as he flustered "I don't even think they do burgers! It's a proper restaurant!"

"Oh?"

Both the older nations were surprised, and truth be told, a little disbelieving.

"That's very adult of you, America." England complimented.

"Sure is! I even made a reservation!" he beamed.

"Very impressive. How many people are going?"

"J-just two." America flushed again, fidgeting in place "I thought I'd treat you, or something."

France saw through him immediately. America was such a dork, it was clear he was inviting Britain on a date. Frances arms tightened around England as he felt a monster rise within him.

"Does the little boy know 'ow to behave in a proper restaurant?" he spat.

"Of course I do!" America insisted "I'm not a child!"

"So, you 'ave mastered the art of not talking with your mouth full?"

"Of-"

"And you 'ave reduced your portion sizes to the extent that they will no longer embarrass your dining partner?"

"Whe… what does that-?"

"And you 'ave, of course, learned 'ow to conduct yourself with dignity and poise when dining in an establishment of class so as not be thrown out?"

"France, be nice." England chastised "Just because he's a pig, doesn't mean he isn't trying."

"Hm."

France buried his face into England neck. He wasn't going to let him go on a date with America. Thinking quick, he let his knees buckle, as if collapsing, nearly dragging Britain down with him. The smaller man caught him as he 'fell.'

"Hey! France! What happened?"

"Dude, you okay?"

"_Mon dieu,_ I feel feint." He whimpered.

"Shit… Alright, lean on me." England instructed "I'll take you back to the hotel."

France threw his arms around England possessively as he leaned on him, throwing a glare at America. The look wasn't lost on the younger nation, who was clearly surprised. He kept up the act all the way to the hotel, even when they two of them got strange looks from the other nations in the hotel lobby. Back in the room, England put France down on the bed, rubbing his sore shoulder as he stood upright.

"You stay here." The Brit ordered "I'm going to get a doctor."

He went to leave, but France grabbed him, wrapped his arms tightly around his waist and nuzzling his stomach.

"I don't need a doctor, Britain." He insisted "I only need you."

"Wha…?"

France grabbed Britains tie and pulled the smaller man down into his lap, surprising him and he wrapped his arms around his waist and rested his head on his shoulder.

"What are you doing, you git?" Britain scolded "I don't want your germs!"

Sensing something was off with the Frenchman, Britain fought every urge in his body not to punch the frog in the face.

"What's wrong with you, idiot?" he asked "You're not usually like this when you have a fever."

"I 'ave just been thinking, _mon petite lapin_." France admitted "Why do we always do this to each other?"

"Do what?"

"We care about each other. We care _for_ each other. We are always at each others side when things go bad, but in the same breath we fight with each other and push each other away."

"Well… things have always been that way." Britain reasoned "That's just how our relationship is."

"Because we are both proud." Francis knew "Neither of us wants to be the first to break."

"What are YIPE!"

France spun around suddenly, and Britain found himself lying on his back on the bed with France leaning over him.

"Confound you, you damned fool, what are you up to?!" he demanded "Out with it, I say!"

France smiled. He grabbed Britains smaller hands in his own and bought them up to his mouth, kissing them gently. Britains entire face went bright red. France drank in the colour, gently placing Englands hands above his head and kissing him full on the mouth, tongue sensually exploring the smaller mans mouth. Britains whole body went stiff, but he didn't fight back. France was satisfied when a certain other part of Britain grew stiff, releasing his mouth and licking the saliva from his lips. He loved how flustered Britain was, eyes wide, face red, shaking slightly in his shock.

"I 'ave decided." France went on "That if my pride is keeping me from what I truly want, then I 'ave no need for it. I will throw my pride away and bathe in my desires."

"You… bu… I … um…"

France laughed at Englands emotional struggle. Sensually, France pulled off his tie.

"_Je t'adore_." He purred "_Je t'aime. Mon Petite Lapin_."

"You-!"

France kissed him again, starting to unbutton Britains shirt and caress his bare flesh, making him gasp. With a grin, he nibbled the Brits bright red ears.

"Tell me," he whispered "'Ow is it that we 'ave so many children together, but we 'ave never made love?"

Englands entire body went red as France ripped off his shirt, seductive grin spread across his face.

"Let's correct that."

* * *

Frances arm was starting to get sore, but it would hurt his heart more if he moved it. Britains sleeping head lay against it, bare flesh wrapped up in his, peacefully breathing. France couldn't help by stare at him. He knew how to get to him – after hundreds of years, he knew every single one of Englands buttons. He had never pressed this particular button before because he had loved him – not erotically, mind you, but enough to want not to lose him, which he definitely would if he just used him for sex.

That feeling had been changing, recently. He saw others flocking around his _petite lapin_, fluttering their eye lashes and touching his arm suggestively, giving him gifts and monopolizing his time. He knew Britain was cute, and he wanted to be happy for him, should he find someone who loved him. But therein lay the problem. No-one could love him as much as he did. No-one. France never imagined himself to be the jealous type, but when he saw other nations flirt with _his_ England, suggestively touch _his_ Britain… Had he been a stronger country, he might have started a war. Had he been a forceful man, he might have dragged Britain into the closest closet and… well, he wasn't a forceful man.

His fingers played on the pale skin of Britain, tracing over faded scars. England was prudish, so he doubted anyone had ever seen him this intimately, bar the lovers of his past. France pulled Britain into his arms and held him close, breathing in the scent of his hair. Others may have seen him like this before, but they never would again. Only France would ever see him like this. Britain shuffled in his arms.

"..'s hot, you idiot." He mumbled, half sleeping.

France released him a little, but not too much. His heart was filled with joy when the smaller mans pride didn't kick in and push them apart. He kissed Britain on the forehead gently.

"After the wedding, let's go on a world tour." He suggested quietly "Visit all our children."

Britain muttered something, but was asleep before he could finish his thought.

* * *

Down in the hotel bar, Canada rubbed his brothers back as the Yank drowned his sorrows.

"There, there, its alright." He assured.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Canada…"

* * *

Old Britain is kind of docile here... I'm working on the assumption of a mutual affection. As mentioned in the prologue, if I get 10 reviews, I'll explore the dark side of Frances jealous love...


	2. Chapter 2 All Mine

Well, the people have spoken. I asked for 10 reviews to continue, and I've more than doubled that! Thank you for your patience in awaiting this update - between finishing my other fruk fic Sometimes Friends, Sometimes Enemies, Always Brothers and having a pain in the ass fever for almost a fortnight, it took longer to update than I would have liked. Please enjoy the second chapter!

* * *

**All Mine.**

The walled garden of Frances house was in full bloom, the borders overflowing with roses, lilies and honeysuckle. The blossoming willow tree beyond the wall flooded over dramatically in a veil of gentle pink and white. The warm spring air held close to them, illuminated by candlelight as they danced, the crackle and hum of the gramophone accompanying the long-loved record. The two swayed gently to the music, watched by none but the moon and stars.

"I can't stop loving you." France sang along quietly, practically whispering in Englands ear "I've made up my mind. To live in memory…of the lonesome times…"

He knew Britain was blushing, even though he couldn't see his face – how typical of him it was to hold onto that little bit of pride. France smiled and held him closer.

"I can't stop wanting you." He went on "It's useless to say. So I'll just live my life… in dreams of yesterday…"

"You're an idiot." Britain mumbled.

France just laughed.

* * *

Don't get him wrong – he certainly didn't miss almost always being at war with his neighbours, but these constant meetings were certainly tedious. While he was the host nation, France kept his speech short, mostly because he knew no one was listening, but also because Britains hand looked very cold and lonely without his. The nations who care more about current events naturally took charge of things from there, and France found that agreeing with Germany and Britain kept his head above the water pretty nicely, even if he wasn't strictly paying attention to what was being said.

He took a brief look around the room, but nothing at all was out of the ordinary – Greece was asleep; Turkey was glaring at him; Egypt sat quietly making notes; the Baltics shivered in fear of Russia, who in turn shivered in fear of Belarus (who had upped the ante by turning up to the meeting in a very wedding-like white dress); America continued being loud and obnoxious; while Canada and Cuba chatted quietly, completely ignoring the speaker; who naturally was Germany, and while his relatives may have been listening, Italy certainly wasn't. Same old, same old. People watching was the only fun to be had at these meetings, now he could no longer play his favourite game of 'poke the bear' with Britain (winning resulted with him being denied sex, and losing resulted in him being denied sex, and given those options, it simply wasn't worth playing).

He amused himself playing with Britains fingers and molesting his small, pale palm. His mind filled with naughty thoughts of having his way with his beloved right here in front of everyone, but was sure Britain would literally kill him if he tried. He smiled to himself and made a note to save those naughty things for later. Britain himself was actually listening to Germany, as he always did, free hand making notes and Francis monopolised the other. He only pulled his hand away when Francis started nibbling on the tips of his fingers, blushing heavily and telling him to stop being daft.

As the meeting adjourned for the day, Germany grabbed Britain to discuss some of the points of the meeting in more detail. How he could stand to listen to such boring things, France had no idea. He wrapped his arms around his lovers shoulders and leant against him as the two men talked. France noticed Italy standing just behind Germany, dwarfed by his impressive pectorals. Noticing France looking at him, Italy smiled, gently grabbing Germanys sleeve. France smiled back, squeezed Britains shoulders and gently nibbled his ear.

"Oi!" said Britain protested "Knock that off, you git!"

Germany didn't look impressed either at Frances behaviour.

"That's hardly appropriate for a meeting." He scolded "Keep those kinds of things in private."

"Why, you jealous?" France teased, going in for another bite.

Germany noticeably blushed from ear to ear. England elbowed France roughly, causing him to let go.

"Now see here, France, I won't have you getting in the way of my official affairs!" he announced sternly "If you can't conduct yourself with some level of decorum-!"

"I'll behave, I'll behave!" France swore, holding his hands up in the air "Can you really blame me for always wanting to be close to my beloved?"

"There's such a thing as propriety, France."

Britain turned back to Germany.

"Where were we?"

"Ah, Greeces defection from the Eurozone." Germany remembered "Where it affects the deficit…"

France stopped listening. He wanted to wrap his arms around Britain again, but he didn't want to get scolded. Germany was irritating him. He was one of Britains ex's, and the fact that they were still so friendly with each other pissed him off. He hated the way Germany's blue eyes locked on Britains face as they spoke, taking in his every feature, his very essence, making love to him with his gaze.

With a sudden pain in his palm, France snapped out of his head. He had been clenching his fist so tightly, his palm had started to bleed. He hadn't even realised. Italy had noticed, and was looking at France with concerned eyes.

"That's a good point, Britain." Germany said as France started listening again "I'll have to bring it up tomorrow."

"Yes, feel free to." Britain answered "Britain and Germany do stand together on this issue, afteral."

Germany smiled. Frances blood boiled.

"If I recall correctly, you and your brother 'ad plans for dinner tonight." France pointed out to him "Isn't it time you got going?"

Germany looked at his watch.

"Ah, you're right."

He hadn't picked up on the subtext. Getting his papers together, Germany gestured for Italy to follow him.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Britain." He bid.

"Have a good evening, old boy."

The two departed, leaving Britain and France the only two left in the room. Immediately, France had his arms around Britain, unbuttoning his shirt and sucking and nibbling his neck.

"Hey! You!"

France pushed him against the table, rubbing his rear suggestively.

"But we are alone, _mon petit lapin_." He pointed out "The official affairs are over. Now, let us go on to our _personal_ affairs."

Britain jumped up, immediately pinned to the table by France, who silenced his protests with his tongue. The Brit fought only a moment before grabbing Frances back and returning his passion. France wasn't going to let him run away, and set about devouring his willing prey.

"West, are you still hanging about, you prick?!"

The door burst open. Prussia froze when he saw the scene before him, Britain half stripped with France straddling him, hands in all the most forbidden places. All the colour drained from Prussias face before coming back with great force, his entire body going scarlet.

"Your brother left." France told him simply, not moving from his place on Britain "You can catch him if you run."

Prussias mouth opened and closed like a fish, his eyes wide. Britain pushed a disappointed France off of him, face ashen, and redressed himself. Silently, he gathered his things and walked past the shocked Prussia and down the hall. France sighed in aggravation.

"You couldn't just leave, could you? Idiot! Now 'e is going to be moody all night, and 'e is staying at my 'ouse, you know!"

France straightened up his own clothes and picked up his briefcase, sweeping his hair back from face.

"Germany and Italy already left." He parroted "Now, if you don't mind, I 'ave to go 'ome to a grumpy bunny."

Prussia seemed glued to the spot. France pushed past him and proceeded down the corridor. France was elated to see Britain leaning against his car.

"You waited for me?" he teased.

"You've got the bloody keys."

France laughed, fishing about in his pocket to retrieve his car keys. He held them above Britains head teasingly.

"I'll trade them for a kiss."

"I'll walk."

France grabbed him anyway, planting a series of sweet kisses on his lips. Britain grabbed the keys from his hand and gently pushed the Frenchman away.

"I'm driving." He announced "Keep your hands to yourself, or I'll crash and kill us both."

"Ooh, Cherie, I like a challenge…"

* * *

The next day, Prussia loitered at the entrance to the government building, watching the nations arrive in pairs and groups. As expected, France and Britain turned up together in Frances bright red car, Britain bickering and France laughing. With not long before the meeting was due to start, Prussia decided to collar Britain immediately, jumping down the stairs and grabbing the small blonde.

"_Guten morgan_!" he greeted the two "France, I need to borrow Britain for a moment!"

Frances eyes narrowed in displeasure.

"Borrow 'im for what?" he asked.

"I'll bring him back!" Prussia assured him as he grabbed Britains hand "Just some boring pre-meeting junk!"

"I don't-"

"Just go to the meeting hall." Britain ordered as he was pulled away "I'll meet you there in a minute."

France was clearly bemused, putting his hands on his hips and scowling. Prussia pulled Britain around to the side of the building, hiding in the dim of the alley between the buildings. Prussia waited to see France enter the building before speaking.

"Well?" Britain said right away "What's wrong?"

"I was going to ask you." Prussia admitted "I know France can be very inappropriate, but I've never seen him be that forceful."

Britain went bright red, starting at his ears. It was kind of adorable, the albino thought, as the other mans green eyes darted about in awkwardness.

"He wasn't being… 'forceful.'" Britain assured him, although he couldn't look him in the eye "Well, maybe a little, but not that much. I mean, not to that extent…I mean, it wasn't entirely unwelcome…"

Prussia took Britains shoulders.

"Britain, you can be honest with me." He said earnestly.

"I am being honest!"

He finally looked Prussia in the eye, but it only seemed to make his blush worse.

"France and I are…together." He admitted "As a couple."

"A couple?"

A moment of silence proceeded them. Prussia stared at Britains face, and the Brit soon became flustered.

"Sh-shame on you!" he scolded the taller man, pushing his hands off his arms "France is your friend, you shouldn't be thinking the worst of him!"

"If it were anyone but you, I wouldn't be." He swore "But I know how France is when it comes to you. He's wanted you for a long time."

This news was the final straw, and Britain covered his face with his hands. He couldn't hide his bright red ears.

"Hey, Britain?!"

Prussia grabbed his hands and tried to pull them away.

"Knock it off, you git!" Britain shrieked "Get lost already!"

Prussia succeeded in getting Britains hands away from his face, to reveal the small blonde smiling widely. The albino was honestly surprised.

"It makes you that happy?" the Prussian asked, still holding Englands hands.

"Who wouldn't be happy?" Britain admitted "Knowing that you're loved. Knowing that you've been loved for a long time…"

Britain looked up into Prussia eyes, and the German was shocked by the depth of his emerald orbs.

"Wouldn't that make you happy?" he asked.

Prussias heart stopped. It made its home in his throat as a cold sweat engulfed him. He was left speechless. With an awkward chuckle, Britain took his hands back.

"The meeting's going to start soon." He pointed out "We should get going."

Prussia stood motionless, watching Britain jog up into the building. When he was out of sight, Prussia turned to the alley, spying his accomplice lurking around the corner of the building. The Spaniard scowled, nodded, and went back into the building.

* * *

What had Prussia wanted? Why couldn't it wait until after the meeting? Why couldn't he have talked to Britain while he was around? How could he have taken Britain into his arms so casually, leading him away so tentatively… the scene replayed over and over in Frances mind, as he saw Prussia repeatedly taking his Britains hand, pulling his Britians arm, getting so close, so close to his _lapin_…

He sighed, trying to concentrate, but it was impossible. He inspected every visible inch of England for clues as to what Prussia had wanted, but there was no sign of him being touched. He couldn't even detect Prussias aftershave. Perhaps it wasn't as bad as all that. While he wanted to ask Britain, his bladder demanded release, and he had to run for it as soon as the break was called.

When he returned, he was resolved to put the incident behind him. He trusted England, and Prussia was his friend. He knew he could be jealous, but he couldn't let his imagination run away with him. Well, that was the intention, but it was stopped short by the scene that greeted him as he strolled back to the meeting room.

The nations were loitering about in the corridor, chatting and stretching their legs. Britain leant against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, with Spain at his side and Prussia before him. That in itself wasn't enraging, but Spain was absently fingering Britains golden hair, leant against him amourously, and Prussia was practically _eating_ Britains tie. Britain himself looked decidedly uncomfortable. France immediately waded in to rescue his love.

"Gentleman!" he greeted threateningly, slamming his fist into the wall above Britains head "'Ow are this day?"

"Good." Spain cheered, a little darker sounding than usual as he tangled his fingers further in Britains hair "How about you, _amigo_?"

"We're just having a little fun before the boring old meeting kicks up again." Prussia relayed and he rubbed Britains tie on his lips "Where were you?"

"In the bathroom." France put his hand on the back of Britains neck "Are you enjoying the 'ospitality of my country, _mon ami_?"

"Britain!" China called from the other side of the hall "Do you-"

"Whatever the question is, yes!"

Britain pulled himself away from the three and sprinted down the hall to China and Russia. France glared at his friends.

"What the 'ell do you think you are doing?!" he hissed accusingly.

"I could ask the same of you, France." Spain said plainly "Since when were you and Britain a couple?"

"Since the last meeting."

"You didn't tell us." Prussia pointed out.

"Why should I tell you?" France pointed out "What Britain and I do is between us!"

"Wrong, bruder."

"What's that?"

Spain and Prussia stood side by side, resolved, and faced France.

"We know you remember." Prussia told him "We all remember."

France pulled a face, signalling to the others that he did, indeed, remember.

"You have a choice now, amigo." Spain warned "Surrender, or war."

France stared at the other two. Their eyes were cold and hard. Without a word, France turned around and walked down the hall to Britain, wrapping an arm around his waist.

* * *

Oh my god, France, keep your hands to yourself for five minutes! Whats going on with Prussia and Spain? Please look forward to finding out soon!


	3. Chapter 3 Beer, Sorrow and Want

What's going on with the bad touch trio? Secrets (partially) revealed! There's a couple of time skips in this chapter. Hopefully I've writen it well enough for that to be obvious, but I'm leaving this here just in case!

* * *

**Beer, Sorrow and Want.**

The wall had fallen. In the frigid night air, alive with the energy of their kin, the people tore it down, brick by brick, cheering and grasping at their brothers on the other side. They were all there, fused with electricity, hands bloody and sore, as Germany tore down that last blockade, Prussia bursting forth and embracing his brother for the first time in so, so long. They had all cried, and cheered, and hollered and rejoiced. They could be whole again.

Now silent and rejected, Prussia leant against the said same wall, beer in his frozen hands, staring serenely at the stars. The rubble was his only companion, piled high and defiled all about. The night was cold and quiet, but it was peaceful, and the sense of warmth within him filled his every cell. Finally, he was whole, and home, with his brother and friends again. He took a deep draught of his beer, savouring the bittersweet taste, knowing that when he went home, the house would be warm and full.

"_Mon ami_," a beloved voice called softly "What are you doing 'anging about 'ere?"

Prussia looked over. Frances hands were still bandaged, but every other part of him as impeccable as always.

"Just thinking." Prussia admitted, turning back o the stars.

"Well, stop." France ordered "It can't be good for you."

With a chuckle, France stumbled over the rubble and positioned himself on the ground beside Prussia, joining his gaze heavenwards. Prussia offered his beer, and the fop took a swig before passing it back. For a silent moment, they took in the night.

"You should come away from this place, Prussia." France said again "It does no good to 'old onto painful things. Come back to the 'ouse, we can drink to our 'earts content in the warm."

Prussia didn't answer at once. He couldn't deny his friend was right. The cold, hard concrete against his back reaffirmed reality. This was happening. He was free.

"I have every night for the rest of time to be warm." He mused to his friend "Tonight, I want to stare at the stars."

"That's pretty deep, _amigo_."

The two were joined on the ground by their jolly Spanish friend, who handed them both fresh beers as he leant against the rubble with them. His soft brown eyes surveyed the panorama above them.

"The stars sure do look good tonight." He agreed "I don't think I've seen them shine so bright for a while."

Prussia laughed at the corny sentiment. He had missed his friends. He had missed Frances gold hair and lily cologne, Spains lazy voice and gentle smile. He'd never tell them, of course, because men don't talk about things like that. But…

He raised his fresh bottle of beer into the air.

"To the end of the war." He toasted.

"To freedom." Spain agreed as he rose his own.

"To being together again." France finished, gently clicking his bottle with the other two.

They drank deep, laughed at the ridiculous sentiment, and talked shit for the rest of the night as they stared at the stars.

* * *

Britain marched quickly down the hall of the government building. The Queen had been on the phone with him all morning. The. Bloody. Queen. For her majesty to be so concerned, the situation must be as bad as his fellow nations feared. As he got to the doors of the meeting room, he met Germany coming from the other direction, looking just as harassed as he felt. Germany greeted him with a sigh and a nod.

"Your premier, too?" Britain enquired.

"_Ja_, it's bad." He confirmed "This is a major disruption. Do you have any idea what caused it?"

"I wish I did. They were fine one day, the next they were fighting. What's your brother said?"

"Nothing." Germany sighed "It's normally difficult to shut him up, but now…"

The door burst open to reveal a more-irate-then-usual China, who glared at them accusingly.

"You are both late!" he declared, before jabbing Germany in the chest with his finger "Do something about your brother! He's being disruptive! And you!" he turned to Britain "Get your boyfriend in line! We can't end this conference with this going on, and I don't want to be stuck in Europe forever!"

"Yes, sir." They chimed together.

They followed China into the room, and the atmosphere was immediately taut. The whole room was practically silent, save for the tapping of feet and the oblivious happy humming of America. In separate corners, the usually inseparable friends had sat, individual clouds of gloom making their homes over them. Frances arms were crossed over his chest, eyes closed, ignoring the whole room. Spain sat, flanked by Romano, staring resolutely at nothing on the table. Prussia sat with Austria to one side and Germanys empty chair to the other, writing furiously in a notebook. The tension between them could almost be seen, even making Britains magical friends uncomfortable. With a glance between them, Germany and Britain went to their respective seats, hoping talk of the Eurozone deficit would lighten the mood.

* * *

Le Mans is warm in the summer, the sun beating down without mercy or prejudice, and the heat of the crowds and engines made it almost insufferable. The crowds roared as the cars came around again, settling down when they disappeared from sight.

"Dammit, Froggy, put away that frilly parasol, it's embarrassing!" Prussia moaned as France adjusted the umbrella over his head.

"Well, excuse me for being worried about your snow-white skin, Mr Albino!" was his reply.

Prussia grimaced.

"You couldn't have found a more manly parasol?"

"I don't think they make them, you know." Spain supposed, perfectly happy in the mid-day sun "But I have to say, France, that one is magnificently feminine."

"There is nothing wrong with my parasol!"

Staying for the entire 24 hours isn't strictly necessary for the non-die-hard fans of racing – truth be told, France only went because Prussia had said he wanted to see it, and Spain had gone because… because…? Because he liked spending time with his friends, and was pretty happy-go-lucky about how and where. They departed the race track just before dinner time, supping in an intimate restaurant France was familiar with. The three were rowdy, even without the addition of alcohol, so sat in the restaurant garden, surrounded by peony, pansies and honeysuckle, laughing and shooting the breeze as the sun set.

"I want one of those sporty little racing cars!" Prussia declared "Those things are awesome! Did you see how fast they went around that track?"

"_Mon dieu_, they are so unsafe!" France countered "They aren't even aloud on the roads, you know."

"It's true." Spain confirmed "You want a dangerous car that's allowed on the road, just buy Italian."

The three laughed, but Prussia couldn't be convinced.

"I've been locked away from the world for 30 years." He reminded them "The longest 30 years of my entire life. And that's just when they built the wall…"

The other two fell silent, awkward, as Prussia stared into the beer he had been nursing for the last 45 minutes, a distant and haunted look in his eye.

"I've spent too much time lamenting the things I didn't do, things I didn't say, things I wanted but never had the courage to go after." With a pause, he downed his beer, gasping air in appreciation "So, I'm going to get an awesome racing car!" he declared "I'm going to punch Austria in his prick face, just because I can! And then!" he blushed awkwardly, once again into his now empty glass "I'm going to finally confess my love to that person."

"Hungary?" Spain and France chanted together.

"Wha? No, no." he scratched his white locks awkwardly "I can understand why you'd think that, but she and I have been friends so long… she's like my brother or something."

"Don't you mean sister?" France corrected.

"I know what I mean! You're more my sister than she is!"

France huffed and flicked back his hair. Spain just laughed.

"¿_Cerveza, hermana Francesca_?" he teased.

"Shut up and get me another drink."

Spain returned a moment later with more drinks and a cold look from the owners, who would like it very much if they would leave so they could get more customers in, but the trio were quite comfortable where they were.

"To be honest, I didn't know you had someone you felt so strongly for." He confessed as he sat down "You always seemed like a confirmed bachelor to me."

"Says Mr. Mom!" Prussia teased "Changed any nappies recently, family man?"

"Tease all you want, _hombre_, I like having children around."

"Ah, Spain!" France joined in "Knows all about the love a father has for his children, but so little about the love a man has for his lover!"

"I don't think a man so often mistaken for a rapist can really comment on love, _amigo_."

France gasped, incensed, but Prussia fell about laughing.

"Nice to know not too much has changed in my absence!"

"Stop laughing, Mr. Can't-talk-to-women!"

He declined, banging the table with his fist as he choked on his glee. France just huffed, fiddling with the flowers that were blooming over the side of the table.

"At least I've 'ad relationships." He muttered bitterly.

"A one night stand isn't a relationship." Spain pointed out, giving France his wine.

France huffed.

"As I recall, all your sexual partners get bored and leave because you're too busy with your children, which I remind you, are all grown up now, to pay any attention to them."

"Hey now, let's not get harsh here." Prussia urged, catching his breath "We're all friends."

The two grumbled, but settled down. With a final sigh, France turned to Prussia.

"So, tell us about your beloved!" he said to lighten the mood "I am keen to know 'oo it is that 'as made you finally want to give up your virgin ways!"

Prussia went bright red and started to splutter.

"You! I! I'm not!"

"Don't try to deny it, man, we know you are." Spain agreed.

Prussias blush spread to his ears, and he took a deep drink from his beer to calm himself. He set it down, looking determined and calm, but his inner monologue seemed to get the better of him, and his blush returned. His head hit the table.

"I can't do it." He moaned.

"Well, start with something simple." Spain suggested "Man or woman?"

After a moment, Prussia mumbled something into the table, but they couldn't hear him clearly.

"Vegetable or mineral?" France teased.

Prussia flashed him the middle finger. France laughed, still fingering the flowers beside him. His eyes grew a little sad as he inspected a red rose.

"I understand." He promised "It can be difficult to talk about the one you love, especially when you don't know if they love you in return."

"You too, France?" Spain enquired.

"_Oui_. I admit, I am in love."

"When did this happen?" Spain went on, smiling in his usual dopey way.

"_Mon ami,_ I think it may always 'ave been so, but I was too proud to see it." He sighed miserably "Lately, when I see America and China and Russia 'anging all over 'im, I get so jealous, I feel like I could faint." He sighed again, putting his head in his hands "_Oh, mon lapin._"

Spain and Prussia twitched. Slowly, Prussia raised his head from the table.

"You… for Britain?" he asked.

"_Oui_. It's _tres miserable_, I know, but I cannot 'elp it. The 'eart wants what it wants."

"I don't think that's wise." Spain admitted "You guys have a long history of hating each other."

"Ah, but there is nothing wise about love, Spain." France waxed poetic "And is there not a fine line between love and hate?"

"America I can picture." Prussia interrupted "But China?"

"You forget, they will share custody of 'Ong Kong until the millennium." France reminded him "China 'as a thing for powerful nations, and Britain is exceptionally powerful, for being so small." He huffed "I don't think China even likes him, but the way he flirts when they're together, giving him the bedroom eyes and touching his arms all the time. I'm shocked Britain doesn't see it himself."

"Russia doesn't shock you?" Spain asked Prussia, who huffed at the question.

"No, I know Russia likes Britain." He revealed "He's one of the few people who doesn't cower from him, and considering the UK can fit into Mother Russia about 70 times, that's kind of impressive." He blushed a little "It is impressive."

"_Si_, there's no doubt he's not afraid of anything." Spain agreed "I still have the scars from where we fought during the armadas. He was more of a wild beast than a man. If his people were as ferocious as him, I'm lucky I never succeeded in invading."

"I can assure you, they are." France told him "Why do you think I couldn't keep sovereignty there?"

"Um, because Britain doesn't like you?" Spain said bluntly.

"That's so mean! Less than 50 years ago we fought in alliance against those filthy Nazis! Ah, no offence, Prussia."

"What makes you think I liked them?"

"But a military alliance isn't the same thing as liking someone." Spain pointed out before things got even more awkward "You also fought beside Russia in that war, but I can't imagine you going out for dinner with him."

"Ah, but Britain and I have centuries of 'istory together!"

"We all do, amigo. It's thanks to the UN that that complicated stuff is behind us and we can all be friends now."

"Why are you so against this?" France was incensed once more "I know you don't like Britain, but I thought you would at least be supportive of me, one of your oldest friends!"

Spain looked away from him.

"I like Britain just fine." He confessed "And it's because you're my friend that I'm worried – a relationship with Britain won't end well. They never do…"

A moments silence graced the table as the two looked at him, trying to decipher his sad expression. After a moment, it dawned on France.

"He's your ex." He remembered.

"WHAT?!" Prussia clearly hadn't known.

"During that time." Spain remembered "Everything was so chaotic. Britain was getting stronger and stronger, and there was something so fierce and passionate about him." He blushed in recollection "What we had didn't last very long, but… I've never felt that kind of passion since then."

"_Mon ami_, I 'ad forgotten." France admitted apologetically "But you know, 'e is a different man now."

"Yeah, I know, he's more settled than he used to be." Spain knew "But sometimes, when I see him talking in meetings, or when he's fighting with the other nations, I can still see that fire in him. I don't think he's entirely changed."

France took a good look at his friends sad expression, trying to think of the right thing to say, but eventually just sighed and went back to caressing the velvety petals of his rose.

"It doesn't matter, anyway." He confessed "Even if 'e did feel the same way, we are both too proud to admit it. I feel I am fated forever to look upon him with longing, and nothing more."

"W-well, what if someone else came along?" Prussia asked, sitting so his side was facing them and scratching the back of his neck uncouthly "Wouldn't you be upset?"

"Of course." France admitted "But if they truly loved 'im, and 'e truly loved them, I don't see 'ow I could interfere."

"Hm."

Prussias scratching moved to his collarbone.

"What if it was, like, Russia or something?" he muttered "Wouldn't you hate that?"

"More than I 'ate American cheese."

"What if it were America?"

"That, _mon ami_, will never 'appen."

"What if it was me?"

The two looked at Prussia, who busied himself with scratching his leg. He felt their gaze upon him, but he couldn't look them in the eye. Frances eyes in particular bore a hole through him, and the pressure grew greater the longer the silence went on. Eventually, he looked up, red eyes meeting blue. Frances expression was serious as he examined Prussias face.

* * *

The meeting ended with nothing resolved. The tension was palpable. Half of England wanted to slap the three of them about a bit, make them stop being so bloody stupid, but the other half was concerned over what could have caused the fission between the bosom buddies. He sighed to himself as he packed up his papers, feeling Frances arms snake around his.

"_Lapin_~" he purred "Let's go out for dinner tonight. Somewhere nice, just the two of us. It'll be fun."

"I don't feel like going out." Britain answered bluntly "Thanks to you and your friends, this whole conference is turning into a disaster. Between the agenda and your squabbling, I don't have time for fun."

He pulled his arm away, and France was clearly hurt. England walked off, but was soon followed by the Frenchman.

"You can't leave without me." He pointed out "You're staying at my house."

"Well, maybe I shouldn't."

"Eh?"

Britain stopped and looked France dead in the eye.

"With you three at each others throats, and being too stubborn as to explain why, the queen is concerned about the possibility of an international incident! And she'd not the only one – the premiers of several countries are getting nervous, including yours! Until you three decide to stop playing silly buggers, it's probably best if I stay in a hotel."

France stopped flat. He clearly couldn't believe what he was hearing. With a sorry sigh, Britain continued on down the hall. He was soon flanked by China and America.

"So?" China asked immediately.

"They're still being stubborn." Britain confirmed.

"Ai-ya!"

"What's the big deal?" America asked "So, they're having a little fight, that's normal."

"It's normal for you!" China spat at him "European nations don't go picked stupid fights with their neighbours like you do!"

"Those three have been friends for centuries." Britain said more calmly "Even when they've been on the opposite sides of conflicts, they've always been friends. You may not understand this, but their friendship is one of the greatest stabilising factors of the current Eurozone."

"You're right, I don't understand." America admitted.

China and Britain could only look at him in derision.

"How is this child one of the most powerful nations on earth?" China exasperated.

"I'm proud and horrified all at once." Britain admitted.

"Dude, that's mean!"

"Speaking of which," China interrupted, stopping Britain by standing in front of him "Hong Kong is having a cultural festival next month. He wants to know if you can get some of your attractive young royals out there for publicity."

"What? My royals are booked up months in advance! Years even!" Britain reminded him "Especially the attractive ones!"

China crossed his arms over his chest and scowled.

"So I'm telling our son 'no' am I?" he said accusingly.

Britain sighed miserably.

"Tell him I'll do what I can." He offered "The Cambridges are busy for certain, but I may be able to get some of the queens other grandchildren."

China smiled. He uncrossed his arms and straitened Britains tie.

"I knew I could count on you." He said "Make sure you bring Hong Kong a big present when you come."

"You-!"

China just smiled, smoothing out the breast of Britains jacket before turning on his heels and leaving with a skip in his step. America guffawed.

"Dude, you just got played!" he teased.

"Oh, shut up, America!" Britain spat, marching off down the other hall.

"You shouldn't tease like that, America."

"Oh, hey, Canada, when did you get here?"

"I've been here the whole time…"

"Oh. Want to grab a burger?"

"Sure."

* * *

This was a long chapter (for me, anyway). I wanted to keep going, but instead I'm splitting it into 2! I hope you enjoyed it, and please look forward to the next one. I love reading all your reviews!


	4. Chapter 4 Time Comes Around

More time skips in this chapter - I know at least one person was confused in the last chapter, but I did warn you! There shouldn't be any more after this though (although there may be, I haven't decided). I thought about making the past scenes all italic, but tha struck me as being annoying to read. Anyway, please enjoy!

* * *

**Time Comes Around.**

"I've seen you in some pretty sorry states, France, but this is just pathetic."

France looked up at Britain. He knew he had had far too much to drink, but right now he didn't care. He took another swig from his wine, only to find the bottle empty, and threw it aside in aggravation, shattering it on the centuries old cobbles.

"Hey, don't mess up my streets, you little shit!" Britain scorned, grabbing France by the front of his shirt.

Seeing his friend was far too inebriated for a fight, Britain sighed, releasing his shirt, and went to pick up the shattered pieces. France fell back to the ground, realising for the first time that he was sat in a puddle, as the rain soaked his face and hair. Head spinning, he watched the object of his affection pick up the pieces of glass. Even though the 1990's were broaching, he still dressed like a punk when he wasn't working, and he looked bloody sexy in his leather jacket and studded collar. Britain chucked the glass in the bin and turned back to France.

"I thought you'd be happy." He mentioned, although he knew it was pointless trying to get sense out of a drunk person "You've finally got Prussia back. Why are you squatting in London getting pissed and not living it up in Europe?"

France wracked his soaked brain. Finally remembering, he groaned and scratched his head in aggravation.

"We 'ad a fight." He managed to slur.

"Huh." Britain sounded surprised "Well, people can change – it's been a long time, afterall."

"S'not it." France moaned.

With a high pitched whine, France started to cry. Hoisting himself up from his gutter, he wrapped his arms around Britains waist and opened his heart into his shirt. Britain was surprised a second, then felt just plain awkward, looking around to see the curious and disapproving stares of the people hard enough to be around this time in the morning.

"Oi!" a cockney called from the crowd "Get your boyfriend 'ome, he's makin' a scene!"

"Fuck off, you wanker!" Britain yelled back, although he did start hoisting the Frenchman to his feet "Get up, you old soak!"

Arm slung over his shoulders, Britain did his best to get him back to his place, but between the enthusiastic wailing and drunken elegance, he only made it as far as the nearest park before he had to put him down. He dropped him on the bench in aggravation – there'd be few black cabs about his time in the morning, but getting this prick to Chelsea in this state was going to be a pain in the arse on foot.

"Stop crying, you idiot!" he yelled "This is a residential area, and it's 3 in the bloody morning! You're going to wake everyone up!"

France didn't stop, instead wrapping his arms around Britains waist again. Annoyed, Britain could only sigh – he wasn't sure if his shirt was more wet from the rain or France. Although one couldn't reason with a drunk, he couldn't leave him here in this state either.

"Alright, old man, what's all this then?" Britain indulged, ruffling Frances golden locks "What did you two fight about?"

His words seemed to calm France down, and he stopped wailing, sniffing and blubbing a little while taking some deep breaths before talking. He looked up at Britains face, azure eyes big and red.

"Prussia," he sobbed "Prussia wants… but I also want…hic…and Spain too, but 'e wouldn't say it…'ow can they, they're supposed to be my friends! Hic!"

He and his friends all want the same thing? What was it?

"Well, can't you share?" Britain asked – afterall, they were good friends, what couldn't they share?

"_NON, NON, NON_!" France shrieked, fiercely tightening his grip on Britains waist "_C'est impossible!"_

Something they couldn't share? Britain sighed. God, it was like Canada and America all over again. Maybe that's the best approach.

"Well, who needs it most?" he tried.

"_Moi_!"

"Then why do the other two want it?"

"_Pourquoi…pourquoi…"_

France descended into sobs and wails again. Annoying, for certain, but better than listening to him speak French. With a sudden heave of his shoulders, the contents of his stomach ended up on the floor, the bench, and most importantly, all over Englands shoes. He felt his eye start to twitch.

"I'm going to fucking kill you in the morning."

* * *

Frances head was killing him. He had drunk _way_ too much. The usually peaceful morning light penetrated his eyes like daggers, slicing up his poor brain and serving it up like scrambled eggs to his pain centres. With a groan, he managed to force his aching body over, pulling the sheets up over his head. As the scent of lavender hit his nose, he realised he had no idea where he was. He threw the sheets back, immediately regretting it when the pain hit him, feeling extra foolish when he recognised Britains tidy spare room.

He remembered coming to London – he was going to confess to Britain before Prussia could. He found himself losing his nerve as he walked the streets to Britains London home, so he bought himself a bottle of wine, and… and… and? France groaned loudly as his throbbing head turned the volume up to 11. What had he done? Had he told Britain? There was no way he would take him seriously if he were drunk – he may even hate him! Good god, what had he done?

"Nice to see you back among the living." A sarcastic voice intonated.

France looked up to see a clearly annoyed Britain holding a steaming mug.

"You ruined my doc martins." He declared "You're buying me new ones before you leave, idiot."

"Ah, sorry." France muttered.

He would be very happy if that's the worst thing he did last night. Seeing his state, Britain sighed and handed him the mug.

"Coffee." He pointed out "It's the instant shit, though – America left it last time he was here. Tastes like shite, but it's good for hangovers."

France took the coffee – he was right, it did taste terrible, but the bitter awfulness did clear his head wondrously. Britain sat on the edge of the bed, inspecting Frances face closely. Conscious that he was being watched, he couldn't help but blush.

"Feeling better?" he asked finally.

"_Oui."_ France admitted "This coffee is a bitter elixir."

"I didn't mean the coffee." Britain elaborated "I meant after your little tantrum last night."

"My…?" France flushed deeper "What, exactly, did I say?"

"Annoyingly little." England conveyed "Just that you and Prussia had had a fight of some kind, that you both wanted something that you couldn't share, and somehow Spain was involved. That's pretty much it."

"Oh."

France was both overjoyed and disappointed. He stared into the bitter black coffee.

"So?" England asked.

"So, what?"

"Well, you came all the way to my country because you wanted to talk about it, right?" he supposed.

France looked up at Britain. His simple kindness really touched his heart in that moment. No wonder he loved him.

"_Oui_, but I got a little…lost."

"Yes." Britain grumbled "I know."

France laughed apologetically. He stared at his coffee a moment more, searching for the right words before speaking.

"Since 'e has been free, Prussia 'as been determined to do all the things he 'as been dreaming of." He relayed "He punched Austria in the face and bought a stupid little sports car."

"Yes, I heard about that." Britain confessed "Hungary was pretty pissed."

"_Oui_, it was pretty funny. But…" he sighed "Prussia 'as someone 'e 'as loved for a while, only 'e never told them. Now 'e is free, 'e is determined to do so."

"Prussia is surprisingly awkward in these matters." Britain knew "And I'm guessing you also have feelings for this person?"

_If only you knew._

"_Oui_."

"And Spain as well?"

"I do not know for certain – 'e hasn't said so, but… they 'ave 'istory."

"Well, who doesn't?" Britain said sagely "This all seems rather unfortunate. Is this person aware of any of this?"

"_Non_." France shook his head "They are… a little slow in these matters."

Britain, not knowing he was the one being talked about, laughed.

"Well, you've got yourself one fine mess there, idiot." He pointed out, like France didn't already know "No wonder you got wasted."

"I am not proud of that."

Britain laughed through his nose, adjusting his position on the bed and taking Frances hand gently.

"As usual, you're making this far more complicated that it needs to be." He assured.

Britain was holding his hand. His heart wanted to explode, but he had to keep his cool.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Love is fleeting." He pointed out cynically "Do you think any romantic relationship can last as long as your friendship with those two has? Can you look me in the eye and say that person would be by your side for hundreds of years, even when you were plunged into war with each other?"

He looked Britain in the eye. Those emerald orbs were so inviting.

"I would like to think so." France said plainly.

"But you can't guarantee it." Britain went on "I know you may not want to hear this, but I think you know what the right decision is."

Frances heart clenched in his chest. He squeezed Britains hand.

"Even though I know it's love?" he asked "Real, true love?"

Britain smiled reassuringly.

* * *

France called Spain and Prussia to Berlin. The three sat in the corner of a dark pub, drinks sitting untouched on the table, brooding in each others direction. None spoke for a while, ignoring the joviality around them.

"Well?" Prussia finally spat "You didn't call us here so we could stare at each other."

"_Oui_, that's true." France admitted "I 'ave called you 'ere for the sake of our friendship."

"If you're going to tell me to give up, you can shove it!" Prussia said right away.

"_Amigo_, let's hear him out." Spain said calmly, although his voice betrayed his tension.

"What I am saying, Prussia, is that we should _all _give up."

"Eh?"

The other two looked at him. He stared at his hands, heart heavy, sighing miserably before looking up at them.

"Our friendship is too important to me for this to come between us." He told them "You are both very dear to me, I don't want to lose either of you." He sighed again, going back to staring at his hands "I love Britain, it's true, and my heart would break for certain if our love didn't last. And if it caused me to lose the two of you as well, I couldn't bear it."

He sighed, scratched the back of his neck, and looked at his friends again.

"I am willing to never tell Britain 'ow I feel, on the condition that the two of you do the same."

The two stared at him, clearly stunned by what he was saying. They chewed it over mentally – France could see it in their eyes. Spain was the first to agree – he loved his friends, and he knew he probably had the least chance of winning the Brits affections. It took Prussia a while longer, and he clearly wasn't happy about it.

"If you ever go back on your word." He threatened France "It's going to be war."

"I would expect nothing less, _mon ami_."

With a final hard stare, Prussia reached to the centre of the table and finally grabbed one of the beers, holding it aloft.

"To friends." He toasted.

The other two took their drinks, and with extreme hesitation, toasted with him.

* * *

25 years later, France pounded on the door of Britains hotel room.

"Oh, come on, Britain, open the door!" he urged "I 'ave to talk to you!"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Came the screech from inside as Britain threw open the door "I'm on the phone with Princess Eugene, you thick fuck!"

Sure enough, he had his mobile plastered to his ear, and his face wore the same haggard expression it always wore when he spoke to royals that weren't the queen.

"Yes, I know you have your exams soon." He said more calmly into the phone, waving his hand to gesture France into the room "I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't important! My son barely asks me for anything as it is, I can't turn up in China empty handed!"

"'E'll probably make you pay with your body." France muttered bitterly under his breath.

Either Britain didn't hear, or he decided to ignore him.

"Yes… Mm-hm… okay… Alright, I appreciate that, your highness. I'll talk to you soon."

He hung up with a sigh. He looked to be putting his phone down on the table, but instead threw it at Frances head, hitting him smack between the eyes.

"What was that for?!" France screeched

"You bloody damnded c-" he caught himself before he could utter the worst word in his language "Why is nothing ever simple?!"

With a cry of exasperation, Britain flung himself onto the bed, face down, and covered his head with the pillow. Frances heart ached for him. Slipping off his shoes, he lay on his back on the bed next to his love, hands folded on his stomach. After a moment of silence, he toyed with a lock of Britains hair.

"Knock it off." the Brit scolded, his voice muffled through the fabric.

"I am sorry." France said earnestly "I didn't mean to cause you so much hassle."

Britain sighed, pulling the pillow off his head and placing it under his chin before looking France in the eye.

"But you still won't tell me what it's about?"

Sadly, France shook his head. Britain blew his breath out through is nose.

"It's not like you to keep secrets." He pointed out bitterly "Even when we were at war, I couldn't get you to shut up. Now we're lovers you're suddenly keeping things from me."

"It isn't my intention." France told him honestly "I never want to keep anything from you. Not ever. I just… need some time to figure this one out."

Britain stared at him a moment before sighing and burying his face in his pillow.

"Fine." He spat "But you're not getting any until it's sorted."

"Any what?"

Britain snorted in laughter. He looked back at France, eyes laughing at him.

"Any sex, idiot."

"Whaa?!"

Britain continued to laugh as France protested. Truth be told, he was just happy to see Britain smile, and played up to hear the beauty of his laugh.

"_L'amore_, I will surely die!" he bemoaned, trying to get his hands under Britains shirt.

"Well, you better hurry up then!" he countered, smacking him in the face with his pillow.

The two laughed together. As their eyes met, they were irresistibly drawn to one another, and France kissed him with tender passion.

_I'm not giving you to them_, he knew, _you're mine_.

* * *

As Britain and France left the room to get dinner, they met Italy walking down the hall. Upon seeing them, he stuck to the spot, starting to shake.

"Good evening, Italy." Britain greeted "How's the food in this hotel?"

Italy opened his mouth to speak. Without warning, his eyes started to tear up, and with a sqeak, he ran down the hall.

"Still a jumpy fellow." Britain thought aloud as he watched him flee.

"You suppose Big Brother France should go and talk to him?"

"Nah, he has Germany for that. Let's go eat."

* * *

Did things happen the way you thought? How will the Bad Touch Trio resolve this? And what's wrong with poor Italy? Find out (pehaps) next chapter!


	5. Chapter 5 I Want You

I nearly dies of embarrassment writing the first part of this. I hope you appreciate it! I'll never be a great smut writer...

* * *

**I Want You.**

It had been a wonderful night. The two of them had gone to see their favourite metal band – they had laughed when they showed up wearing the same t-shirt. After the excitement of the music, the two had stumbled through the streets of Berlin looking for dinner, laughing and kissing and falling over each other. With everything closed, they ate bratwurst and drank beer on a bench at the side of the canal, chatting as they stared at the stars.

Calmer, they had walked hand-in-hand through the streets, quietly exchanging sweet nothings. Prussia couldn't help but notice how warm his hands were, how pink his blush, as he surveyed Britains face. With a heavy pounding heart, Prussia asked if he wanted to come back to his place. Britain blushed heavily, eyes wide, then smiled demurely and nodded. Prussias heart soared as England wrapped his arms around his and laid his head on Prussias shoulder as they strolled.

Returning home, the two snuck upstairs so as not to wake the dogs, settling down on the floor of his bedroom. They chatted for a while before Prussia steeled the strength to put his arm around Britains shoulders. The Brit smiled happily and leaned into him, taking his other hand in his own. They kissed, tenderly at first, then with more passion, wrapping their arms in tangles around each other. With Britains hands in his hair, Prussia slipped his under Britains shirt, caressing his bare chest as he pulled the material off.

Britains entire body seemed to blush as Prussia pulled him up on to the bed, laying him down gently. Prussia pulled off his own shirt and threw it aside. Even Britains ears were red. It was adorable. Prussia couldn't help but kiss those ears as his fingers explored Britains bare torso. The blonde gasped erotically as he caressed the sensitive areas, kissing his way down his neck and chest.

"Prussia…" he gasped "Please… be gentle…"

Prussia grinned as he slipped his hands over Britains jeans, popping open his buttons and, hungrily but slowly, unzipping his flies. His whole body was hot, and rigid from anticipation, and… soaking wet?

Prussia eyes flew open. The morning light flooded in, covering the hotel room with its white glow. He looked around – his brother West stood over him, empty kettle in his hands, already dressed and primped for todays meeting. Hugging his pillow, bedclothes soaked and thrown asunder, it took the sleepy Prussia a minute to figure out what had just happened.

"IHATEYOUSOMUCH!" he shrieked at his little brother, kicking his arms and legs like a furious toddler "I was having the best dream of my life!"

"Have dreams on your own time." His brother ordered sternly "We have a meeting today. Get up."

Prussia grumbled. His bed was soaked, there was no way he could roll over and ignore West like he usually did in the morning. Why did he have to go to the damn meeting anyway?

"You're an asshat." He swore.

"_Ja, ja_, get up."

With more grumbling, he hoofed himself out of bed.

"Can't believe a stiff guy like you is his ex." He muttered under his breath.

"What's that?"

"Germany!" the usual cheerful voice called from outside the door "I'm ready on time today, Germany!"

West let out a noise of honest surprise and went to answer the door. Prussia sniffed his pits – he should probably shower before putting his suit on. He scratched his belly as he sauntered into the living room of their suite.

"What the hell are you wearing?!" West scorned in shock.

Prussia ignored them and headed for the bathroom.

"What?" Italy asked "Big brother France said the meeting was smart-casual!"

"I don't care what France said, you do not attend international meetings in shorts!"

"Aw, but I'm wearing a tie!"

Prussia shut the bathroom door, turning on the shower. He threw his vest and pants on the floor before checking the water and stepping in. West was always half an hour early to these meetings, so he knew he didn't have to rush. As the warm water pelted his body, he tried to continue the events of the dream in his mind, but his brain refused to co-operate, the memory slipping from him with every second. He swore, head butting the tiles, before resigning himself to reality.

* * *

France was early. He had been feeling under-the-weather lately, so Prussia supposed he may not come at all, but he guessed Britain had dragged him along anyway, just as West had dragged him. He still looked pale, and not as dressed up as usual. Actually, he was early – perhaps Britain had dragged him out of bed as well? With nothing else going on before the other nations arrived, Prussia sat down with his friend.

"Hey, Francy-pants!" he greeted "You feeling better?"

"_Oui_, thank you Prussia." France confirmed, although his voice was less enthusiastic than normal.

He could understand – he hated being sick. He did, however, know one sure-fire way of cheering his friend up.

"Good! Then you'll come drinking with us tonight, _ja_?"

France paled a little, although he smiled.

"Sorry, not tonight." He insisted "I don't think I should go drinking until I'm completely better."

Normally, Prussia would insist – it was always more fun with the three of them – but he could see his friend was peaky, and he didn't want to make it worse.

"Pfft, you're no fun." He teased.

As conversation dried up, Prussia tapped his fingers on the table and surveyed the slowly filling room, immediately bored. A _scritch, scritch_ met his ears, and looked back to France to see him writing a list. God, he had girly handwriting. What was he up to? Peoples names?

"Ah, America's not yours." Prussia pointed out as he figured out he was writing a list of his children.

France looked a little surprised, like he hadn't expected Prussia to notice.

"Ah, you 'ave me figured out." he admitted, blushing slightly "I lost my diary, so I 'ave to write down all the kids birthdays before I forget."

It wasn't like France to lose things – he must really be sick afteral.

Britain entered the room, talking all officially with West. Prussia felt his cheeks flush, remembering this mornings dream, but with France right beside him, all he could do was clear his throat and sit back in his chair, pretending not to have seen him. He blessed his good luck as the Brit sat down with them.

* * *

"I'm telling you, he needs some cheering up!" Prussia insisted "A nice quiet meal, just the three of us, is just what the doctor ordered."

"Hm, I dunno." Spain sounded unconvinced "We tend to get a little rowdy together. Maybe France just needs some sleep."

"When have you ever known France pass up a good meal? I guarantee he'll want to come!"

"Alright." Spain agreed, although he still sounded unconvinced.

The two shimmied through the crowd of loitering nations to where the sickly France was sat, only to be stopped at the finish line by a stern looking Britain.

"And what do you two think you're up to?" he inquired, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Meeting's over!" Prussia pointed out "We're gonna ask France is he wants to come out with us!"

"Out of the question." Britain answered right away "He has a flu, the last thing he needs is to be dehydrated and exhausted by you two."

"We weren't going to drink, _amigo_." Spain promised "We thought a quiet meal might raise his spirits."

"I might believe you, if it weren't for Oktoberfest '98. How long were you in hospital?"

"A week and a half!" Prussia declared.

"That's not something to be proud of." Britain scolded.

"We sincerely mean it." Spain promised as Prussia laughed awkwardly "No drinks, just food!"

"Then you can sincerely wait until France is better." He countered "Right now, he needs to sleep, and that's definitely not going to happen with you two jokers around. Now, off with you!"

With gentle force, he grabbed their arms and spun them around, pushing them back into the crowd. Accepting fate, they went back to gather their papers.

"Must be nice, having someone to take care of you like that." Spain muttered.

"Don't torment yourself." Prussia insisted, knowing full well what was going through his mind.

"Hey, you don't think…"

"Of course not." Prussia knew "There's no way France would break his promise. Those two have always been close – it's super annoying, I know – but I trust him. You should too!"

"I know." Spain said with a sigh "And I feel bad, but…" he sighed again "I guess this is the one area where I can't trust him."

Prussia stopped, looking his friend in his soft brown eyes.

"You really think that?" he asked.

"Yeah…sorry. Y'know, I'm feeling pretty tired myself. I'm just going to go back to the hotel. See you in the morning, Prussia."

"_Ja_, see you."

Prussia watched his friend leave, shoulders slouched. Almost immediately, Romano was by his side making demands.

"Hey, Spain, buy me dinner, you cheapskate!"

"Sure, what do you want?"

"Prussia!"

Prussia startled as someone jumped on his back. His heart started beating again when he realised it was just Italy.

"Italy, you scared me!" he scolded, even as he grabbed the smaller mans legs and hoisted him more securely onto his back "If I had my sword on me, you'd a dead man!"

"Sorry, sorry."

He didn't sound sorry. Prussia laughed.

"What's going on, buddy?"

"Germany's talking with Switzerland about something." Italy relayed "It's _really_ boring. He said we should go ahead and have dinner without him."

"What's that? Spend some quality time with my precious sister-in-law? Sounds scandalous!"

"Ve~? Prussia, that's mean!"

"Hey, West!" Prussia called to his brother, who stood on the other side of the room trying his best to ignore him "I'm totally stealing your wife! We're going to run away and have a completely scandalous affair, so scandalous will it be, that it will make all the most scandalous tabloids! And there's nothing you can do about it!"

He burst out cackling as he ran from the room, Italy clutching his shoulders desperately even as he laughed. Prussia knew West probably hadn't even looked over, but he swore he heard Poland yelling at him to 'totally go for it!' as he ran past.

* * *

"Whaa? West is working late again?"

Italy nodded sadly, swirling the glass of red wine around in his hand.

"He's on the phone with Britain." He relayed "You know, the Eurozone deficit. I tried to sit there quietly, but he got mad."

Prussia knew there was a marked difference between Italys 'sitting quietly' and Wests 'sitting quietly.'

"That stiff ought to be more attentive with his wife!" Prussia announced "Or he'll end up divorced."

"Eh~, please don't tease." Italy pleaded "I'm not really in the mood for it."

Poor Italy. Prussia knew West loved the little air-head, even though his natural stiffness made it difficult for him to express that love. West was serious about his work, and between the recession and the Eurozone crisis, it was no wonder he was always working so late these days.

"Hey, don't look so down." Prussia cooed as he sat beside Italy on the couch and put a reassuring arm around his shoulders "So, stuffy old West is busy, you've still got the awesome me! Let's play video games!"

"I don't really feel like it." Italy said, sighing "I wish I was smart and serious like Britain, then Germany would pay more attention to me."

"Don't be so hard on yourself! If you were more like Britain, your relationship with West would be doomed to failure!"

Italy finally laughed, looking up at Prussia.

"Why's that?" he asked.

"You didn't know? Those two used to be an item."

Italys smile dropped. This was clearly new information to him.

"Eh?"

"Oh, it was a long, long time ago!" Prussia assured immediately "Long before he met you! Heck, it was back when Britains royal family still considered itself to be German! Do you have any idea how long ago that was?"

"I had no idea…"

Fuck!

"Ah, but like I said, they were doomed from the start!" he assured "When it came to business and stuff, they were all in sync, but West just didn't know how to let loose like Britain did." Prussia laughed "I remember this one time, we ended up racing sows down the walls of Windsor Castle! West was so pissed! I broke my leg in three places and Britain nearly cracked his head open, but the queen laughed, so it was all good."

"Germany and I aren't in sync at all…"

Ah, crap. Determined the fix the mess he made, Prussia grabbed Italys head and pushed it down suddenly into his lap. Italy yelped at the sudden movement, looking up at the albino in surprise.

"You get those thoughts out of your head." He ordered "West loves you, you know that! He's just crazy busy right now."

Italy smiled warmly, still unsure.

"I know." He said quietly, fingers fiddling with the fabric of Prussia trousers "I just wish I could be more useful to him. If I wasn't such a burden, maybe he's spend more time with me…"

Prussia inwardly groaned. _West, you knucklehead. _He went to sigh before being struck by inspiration.

* * *

"I think Greece is going to be the biggest barrier to this." Germany went on, watching Britain taking notes over the skype "But if we can get Japan on side then-"

"CHEEP."

With a startle, Germany looked around, but the room was still.

"Something wrong?" Britain asked, pen in hand.

"Ah, no, I don't think so." Germany turned back to him "As for Japan-"

"CHEEP."

Germany spun around again, irritated.

"Germany?"

"My brother is messing with me." He knew right away.

"Oh, is it 9 o'clock over there?" Britain asked with a laugh.

"Ha ha." Germany groaned, wondering what form his brothers assault was going to take tonight.

"CHEEP."

Germany looked down as he felt something on his foot. A fluffy yellow chick. It looked up at him with its beady black eyes.

"CHEEP."

With another groan, Germany plucked it up.

"Oh, it's a bird." Britain pointed out over the skype.

"A little weak, but whatever. I'm not complaining."

With an apology, Germany got up and went to the door, determined to put the chick back in the coop with its mother. He wondered if his brother was losing his touch, realising his mistake too late as he opened the door, and an entire menagerie of chickens flooded in.

"What?! Why are they wearing hats?! PRUSSIA!"

"Wa, Germany, there are chickens in the bathroom!" Italy screamed from down the hall "I can't go with them watching me!"

As he bolted down the hall, picking up as many chickens as possible along the way, Germany didn't notice Prussia slip into the room behind him and slide the door closed, shooing some of the hens away with his feet. Prussia delighted in the sound of the raucous laughter coming from Britain as he sat in his brothers chair.

"Pru-Prussia!" he gasped "Where did you get all those chickens?!"

"Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answers to." He flirted, even as a hen flapped onto his shoulder and made itself comfortable "So, how are you?"

"My sides hurt." Britain declared, wheezing a little as he stopped laughing "Ah, I needed that."

"You and West both."

"Oh, come on, that boy never could take a joke."

Prussia laughed with him.

"I put some thought into it, but I don't this our house could take a sow race as well as Windsor Palace did." He revealed "Besides, he'd make me clean up after them."

"Oh God, the sow race!" Britains eyes sparkled as he remembered, cheeks still rosy from laughing as he tried to straighten his face "We got on so much trouble!"

"My ears are still ringing." Prussia agreed.

Prussia leaned forward, putting his elbows on the desk, and rested his head in his hands, staring at Britain across the internet. His heart skipped a beat at the Brit loosened his tie and undid the top two buttons of his shirt, throwing his pen down.

"You always did know when to call it a night." England complimented, running his hands through his scruffy hair "I think it's safe to say we won't be getting anymore work done."

As if in confirmation, Italy shrieked from down the hall, and West let out a loud growl of aggravation, followed by a loud thud that shook the house a little. Prussia smiled happily.

"How's the weather?"

* * *

The two talked until the wee early hours of the next morning. Prussia would have been happy to talk all night, but the sound of them laughing had woken up Sealand (why wasn't he with Sweden?!), making Britain realise just how late it had gotten. He switched the computer off with a sigh, plodding out of the office and upstairs to his bedroom. He snorted as he heard the soft clucking of dozens of hens in the garage, feet tickled by the feathers that his brother had swept to the sides of the hall.

He briefly checked on his brother before going to his own room – it was amazing how he could look so annoyed, despite being asleep, with Italy curled up in his arms. A warm feeling enveloped Prussia as he slipped into his own bed, hugged is pillow, and hoped for happy dreams.

* * *

BORED. BORED BORED BORED BORED BORED. Why were meetings so boring? Being at Frances place, Prussia thought he could at least mess about with his friends, but after the chicken incident, West was cracking the whip more than usual. Every time Prussia so much as looked up from his notes, either Austria or Switzerland would smack him over the head. It could really suck coming from a family of such serious people.

Having seen Spain off, he waited as long as he could for West before getting bored, finally going back to the room to find the bastard. He had probably got caught up talking to someone about something boring again. Hoping to make his brother jump, he kicked open the door theatrically.

"Hey, West, are you still in here, you prick?!"

He stopped short. West wasn't there. France was there. He leant over the table, pinning Britain down. Britains face was scarlet, his suit disheveled, clearly panting. France shot Prussia a poison look.

"Your brother left." He spat, clearly indicting he wanted him to leave "If you 'urry, you can catch 'im."

Frances hand was half shoved into the front of Britain trousers. His shirt was undone, revealing his bare chest. Shoving France off him, he desperately pulled is clothes into some kind of array and darted from the room, not even looking at Prussia. With a growl, France chased after him. Prussia was still rooted to the spot. What had he just walked in on?

Reality hit him, and hot, fat tears started to roll down his face. With a choke, he sunk to his knees.

* * *

So, how was it seeing things from Prussias point of view? I imagine him to be an enthusiastic dork, but that's just me. Next chapter, we're seeing things from Spains side!

And if you like it, you should've put a review on it! (I regret nothing)


	6. Chapter 6 I Had You First

Every time I read back through a story and see all the typos I missed, I feel like each one is a splinter in my heart! I mention this because a kind guest reviewer was kind enough to point out to me that I previously wrote that Spain had brown eyes, when in actual fact, they're green. How the fuck did I miss that?! How embarrassing...

* * *

**I Had You First**

It had been a turbulent time. Turbulent, passionate, devouring them all and spitting them back out dirtier, bloodier, irrevocably changed. Something about the high seas and the new world bought out the best and worst in them all. How many times had they done battle, let sabres fly, pulled up along the broadside and let the cannons rip, in the name of the king, the queen, the nation, for treasure, for glory, for passion? He could still remember the cold, salty wind, the ocean spray, the sound of the metal clanging and scrapping, the shouts of the men and roar and smoke of the cannons. Those green eyes... Britain had truly been a lion, an untamed beast in a scarlet cloak, claws made of metal with a devils tongue.

Spain could remember. He could remember the manic glee in those green eyes as they drew their rapiers as all about them fell to chaos. He could remember his strength as the Brit grabbed him roughly, pushing him down, taking pieces of him for himself. He could still feel the Brits flesh beneath his fingers as he clawed back at him, throat hoarse from battle, or the sea, or his own cries of ecstasy. He remembered the feel of his hair, his scent, the taste of his breath. Whenever he thought he had finally forgotten, something bought them back, like an aroma on the breeze or the smell of the sea.

His body remembered. Whenever it did, he had no choice but relive that moment again, again, again.

But that was long ago. The world was a different place now. They had grown, matured. They say fatherhood is the making of a man, and Spain knew that was true of himself – he didn't recognise his past self, so capable of violence and cruelty. He believed the same was true of Britain – he was noticeably changed from those days, calmer, more patient, softer spoken. The way he was with America, Canada, Australia… a tenderness he had never seen in him at sea. But those eyes. On occasion, he saw those eyes flash, the lion reawakened, and it made is knees quake.

It had been born and lived on the sea, and Spain was happy to let it end there, despite the pleading of his flesh for its return. Time had passed. They had changed, met again, had lovers since. But France…and Prussia…why? Why? Was this Gods punishment for him loving a man? With a wretched sigh, he decided he had no need for such a God. There were so many people in the world, why did they have to pick him? What could Britain be but another sexual conquest for the never satisfied France? The thrill of the chase was his bread and butter, snaring his prey like a fine wine at the end of the meal. What kind of feelings could Prussia have – a man who, despite his centuries, had never known the flesh of another – but that of a childish crush, living in delusions and ideals?

Fuck, it was cold. Why did they have to be on the beach this time of night? As the fireworks painted the stars above them, Gibraltar squealed happily, pointing out her favourite as he pulled on Britains arm. He smiled and agreed that it was, indeed, the most beautiful. Spain caught his eye for just a moment, stopping his heart in his chest, before he looked back at the sky. All about them, the families with their children watched the display, wrapped up in coats and scarfs against the New Years cold. On Spains other side, Romano pouted, arms crossed over his chest – he was still wary of England, it seemed.

"It's damn cold!" he bitched "Can we leave now or what?"

"Have a little patience, Romano." Spain urged "Gibraltar wanted to see the fireworks."

"So, why is the green-eyed bastard here?! He even bought scones! I'm telling you, it's a declaration of war!"

"Put a sock in it!" Britain snapped sternly, causing the Italian to flinch terribly.

Britain glared at Romano a moment before turning back to the stars. Romano growled, but was clearly shaking.

"Britain is Gibraltar's other parent." Spain pointed out "There's no reason he shouldn't be here. And in case you're forgetting, _I_ have green eyes too."

"What? You never do! You're Spain! Spanish people have brown eyes!"

"You…" Spain sighed "Just shut up and look at the fireworks, Romano."

The group stumbled home at about one in the morning, Gibraltar immediately going off to bed, Romano soon following.

"Thanks again for letting me stay." Britain said as Spain showed him to the spare room "Booking a hotel at this time of year is a real pain."

"Oh, that's no problem, amigo." He assured "_Mi casa es su casa_, you know?"

"Yes, quite." Britain laughed "Same to you, old chum."

_That a promise?_

They stopped at the door of the spare room. A shiver ran up Spains spine.

"So… this is it…" he pointed out.

"Bathroom's down the hall, third on the left?" Britain recalled.

"Yeah. You got a pretty good memory, _amigo_."

Britain smiled.

"I've always been blessed with a perfect memory."

His smiled turned sad, and he looked at the floor as painful memories boiled to the fore in his brain. The chill spread to Spains fingers. His body, moving without orders from his brain, raised his arm, brushing a stray lock from Britains face. Britain looked at him, blushing slightly. Their eyes locked. The skin on his face was soft. His golden locks like velvet. He was… he was… he was pulled roughly from behind, yelping in surprise as Italian arms wrapped around his torso, hauling him away from Britain.

"Go to bed already, you scone-bearing bastard, it's late!" Romano barked, pulling Spain away.

He was hauled away with such speed, Spain didn't even see the dumbfounded look on Britains face as he was escorted off. Romano threw Spain onto his bed as what had happened dawned on him, and he quickly got angry.

"Romano, you son of a bitch, what the hell did you think you were doing?!"

With a scowl, Romano pushed Spain onto his back, sitting square on his chest and leaning over him, arm at the side of his face.

"I'm stopping you from doing something you'll regret." He said plainly, catching Spain by surprise "I've watched you sigh over that bastard my whole damn life. I couldn't do a thing about it as a kid, but those days are gone. I won't let that bastard get under your skin anymore!"

"You idiot, under my skin is exactly where I want him!"

SLAP.

It took Spain a moment to realise. His head cracked to the side, his face started to sting. Romano had struck him. He looked back in surprise, seeing tears well up in his usually harsh eyes.

"You bastard." He sobbed "You stupid bastard."

"Romano…"

Romano swept down and kissed him, and Spain felt his hot tears fall on his face. The Italian got sensual, slipping in his tongue, but… Spain just didn't feel that way about him. Gently, he grabbed Romanos shoulders and pushed him back. His eyes were filled with hurt.

"You're a good kid, Romano." He insisted.

Romano welled up again, shaking off Spains hands, he fell against his chest and cried.

"Why? You stupid bastard!" he whimpered "I'll make you forget him! I will!"

Spain put his arms around Romano as he cried, any amorous thoughts of him and Britain gone from his mind.

* * *

Just another conference. Spain would have been more than happy to sit it out, but the constitution demanded he attend. France had come down with a flu, so even his usual escapes with his friends were off the cards – Prussias immaturity could get a little insufferable without the filter of Frances 18+ attitude.

Sat on the other side of the hall with the Italies, Spain noticed France and England sat together as the conference started. Of course they were together. They always sat together in these meetings. They always sat together everywhere. Spain knew that France had broken their promise. Or if he hadn't, then he would, long before he or Prussia thought of it. He loved his friend, but he knew he had no self-control – if he had, the two of them wouldn't have slept together those few times. He laughed at the thought – perhaps it said more about him than France.

Romano audibly groaned as the meeting started. When it came to the Eurozone, Germany and Britain – the two nations he hated most – always dominated. Spain couldn't help but laugh – his special little friend was still such a kid. Even as Britain talked, Spain noticed he kept one eye on France, who admittedly looked far from his best. His Britain was the lion. It seemed Frances Britain was the lamb. He didn't mind – he liked the lion – but it sure would be nice to be treated so gently. He didn't really have anyone who would do that for him; Romanos idea of taking care of him when he's ill is ordering him to get up and make him lunch.

Prussia skipped over as usual when the meeting ended, suggesting that they take France out for a meal to cheer him up. Britain soon put the stoppers on it, shooing them away. Feeling a little insecure as he let his paranoia get the better of him, Spain made his apologies rather than burden Prussia with his bad mood. Romano, never one for reading the mood, flanked him all the way to the hotel, talking and complaining non-stop. Spain only half listened. After about 10 seconds in the hotel lift together, it was China who finally yelled at Romano to shut up, embarrassing Japan and amusing Korea. Romano, freshly scolded, stuck his hands in his pockets and sulked down the hallway to Spains room, inviting himself in.

"Here, Romano," Spain offered him the euros in his wallet "You wanted dinner, right?"

"You idiot, I don't want your money!" Romano spat "Change your clothes and lets go!"

"Sorry, _amigo_, I don't really feel up to it." He admitted, kicking off his shoes and loosening his tie "But have some tiramisu on me, okay?"

Without another word, he collapsed on the bad, face down. Romano, instead of leaving, sat beside him.

"That pervert France didn't give you anything, did he?" he asked, placing his hand on the back of Spains neck to check his temperature. Spain shook his head. Romano grumbled.

"Fine." He spat, standing up and snatching the money on the table "You have as long as it takes for me to find a decent pizza place in this damn country to feel sorry for yourself, then you better get up, because it's not like I'm here for business or anything!"

Spain laughed a little as Romano slammed the door behind him. He heard him stomp down the hall, his footsteps disappearing, leaving him in almost silence. His body itched. Waiting long enough to confirm that Romano wasn't doubling back, he got up, opened his chest and pulled out the crimson coat. He laid back down on the bed, clutching the coat tightly in his arms, breathing in the ancient scent.

* * *

"Prussia? What's wrong, amigo?!"

Spain grabbed his friends shoulders as he stumbled into the room. His eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot, his face ashen. Spain kicked the door closed and led Prussia to the chair, sitting him down and kneeling before him. He had only seen Prussia cry a few times in hundreds of years, and considering he had been completely fine earlier in the day, his current state was concerning.

"What happened, Prussia?" he asked again "What's wrong?"

"France." He sobbed, tears coming to his red eyes.

"What's wrong with France?"

Prussia gasped and sobbed, grabbing Spains shoulders.

"I saw him with Britain." He admitted "He was on top of him, undressing him. Back in the meeting room. You were right. Spain, you were right!"

Prussia burst out crying again, clutching Spains shoulders tighter.

"How could he? We had a deal! That son of a bitch!"

"France did?"

"That bastard was like a brother to me! I'll never forgive him!"

He knew it. He _knew_ it! There was no way France could be trusted to keep his hands to himself! Alright, calm down, he urged himself, Prussia might be mistaken.

"Are you absolutely sure, _amigo_?" Spain urged "Did you see both their faces?"

"Oh, I saw more than that!" Prussia assured "France had England pinned to the table, and he was undressing him! Britain ran off as soon as I got there. That France… how could he?!"

"Calm down, man." Spain urged again "That kind of situation may not be what you think."

"Eh?" Prussia stopped crying, looking him in the eye "What do you mean?"

"Maybe France wasn't trying to seduce him, maybe he was just playing and took it too far." He suggested lamely, although he didn't believe it himself "You know how he is."

"Maybe… y-you think he might?!"

It broke Spains heart to hear how hopeful Prussia sounded. Spain didn't doubt that France had gone back on his word.

"We'll ask Britain tomorrow." He assured Prussia "We'll decide what to do then."

* * *

Romano, arms crossed, chewed on his tongue. What the hell had happened? Just yesterday everything was normal, now Spain and his idiot friends were at each others throats! What had happened?!

"Germany doesn't know either." His little brother confessed as they discussed the situation "Spain hasn't said anything to you?"

"Not a damn thing! If he had, I'd know how to clean up this mess!"

"Ve, this is bad…"

Romano growled, spinning in his chair so he was better facing his brother.

"What happened yesterday?" he questioned him "Has anything out of the ordinary happened recently?!"

North Italy thought hard.

"The day before…" he began, hazel eyes far away "Big brother France was all over Britain – I think they're dating or something. The day after, Prussia and Spain were all over him too."

"Britain…" Romano growled.

"Ah, but it's not strange for France to be all over people!" North Italy insisted, waving his hands dramatically "Even if they aren't going out, so maybe it's not weird?"

"Oh, it's weird, alright!"

Romano jumped up to his feet and stormed out of the room he and his brother were sharing.

"Where are you going, Romano?"

His little brother got up and followed him as he marched down the hall.

"I'm going to confront that idiot Spain and get the truth out of him!" he announced "I'm going to tell that bastard, 'I know this is about Britain, and I'm going to put a stop to it!'"

"Ah! Romano, you're so brave!"

"Of course! And when I'm done with Spain, I'm going to punch that idiot Celt in the ear!"

"Eeeh?! Are you really?!"

"Hell no, but it sounds good!"

They stopped at the door of Spains hotel room, and Romano hammered on it unceremoniously.

"Spain, you bastard, open the damn door so I can give you a piece of my mind!"

"You tell him, Romano!"

"Spain!"

Despite his repeated attempts at yelling and banging, the door remained unanswered. With a growl, Romano fished the spare key out of his pocket and opened the door himself.

"Eh? Why do you have that?" North Italy asked.

"What, you don't have that potato bastards spare key?"

"Well," his brother blushed "That's… different."

"Yeah, yeah, spare me tales of your escapades, okay?"

They entered the room, finding it dark and empty. Romano immediately started to rummage through the drawers and cupboards.

"Hey, you can't do that!" he brother fretted "They're big brother Spains things!"

"There's nothing he should have that I don't know about!" Romano insisted, grabbing Spains suitcase and tipping it out onto the bed.

"Eh? Weren't you just going to talk to him?!"

Romano stopped listening. There, on top of the pile of Spina formal suits, lay the object he hate the most. Its crimson fabric flashed before him, mocking him. He felt his every muscle tighten.

"What's that?" North Italy asked as he spotted it "Since when did big brother Spain wear such a facy coat? Do they even still make them like that?"

"No." Romano spat "They don't."

Romano grabbed the coat. It felt dirty. His hand felt contaminated just touching it, like it was going to rot and drop off.

"It's Britains coat." He went on "From back in the days when he and Spain would fight on the high seas."

"Eh? Why would Spain have Britains coat?"

"Because he's an evil sorcerer."

"Eh?"

"You heard me!" Romano spat, glaring at his brother as he felt the fabric burn his skin "That Britain uses evil magic to ensnare people! He uses them and then leaves them, but his evil magic makes sure they can never love anyone else!"

"Never?" his brother muttered.

"Not ever! That bastard… long ago, he cast his evil spell on Spain, and to this day he can't love anyone else. He can only love as a 'father', as a 'brother', but never…! Never as a 'lover.'"

He sighed sadly, unable to look his brother in the eye.

"This coat." He spat "This fucking coat – it's a symbol of that evil curse."

He gripped the coat, tight enough to feel the pressure of his nails against his palm through the fabric. All at once, he grabbed his brothers hand, pulling him from the room and slamming closed the door.

"I'll break the fucking curse." He swore as he pulled his bother down the hall "I'll make you forget him."

With extreme prejudice, he dumped the crimson jacket into the cleaners cart, ignoring his brothers protests.

"Romano, that's not yours!"

He didn't look back as he pulled his brother down the hall to their room. Had he looked back, he might have seen the figure that calmly plucked the jacket from the cart, dusting it off and examining it closely. With an amused laugh, they realised what it was, folding it up neatly and taking it back to their room.

* * *

Spains account seems a little abridged compared to Prussia and Frances, but reading the same thing three times can be just as boring as writing it three times... So, now we have the whole back story, we can move forward! Is Italy's role in this becoming clearer? On a related note, it was extremely awkward writing 'North Italy', but it seemed odd that Romano would think of his brother as 'Italy', as they're both parts of Italy.

Another interesting note before departure - 'Mine' has now had more readers than 'Sometimes...', although judging from the comments, the readers seemed to enjoy that one more. Please look forward to the next chapter!


	7. Chapter 7 Please Don't Leave Me

Rapid updating! I hate waiting for things...

* * *

**Please Don't Leave Me.**

It was late at night. Germany was clearly stressed, his back more rigid than usual as he typed away on his laptop. Sat on the edge of the bed, Italy watched him, not making a noise as irritation radiated off his partner. A lot of thoughts were buzzing in his mind, things he had never thought about before. He never imagined having a rival for Gemanys affection. They were always surrounded by family, friends, old enemies turned allies, but he never imagined that within those ranks lay in evil sorcerer trying to snatch Germany away from him.

He scolded himself. Sure, Britain knew magic, but 'evil sorcerer'? Romano had to be exaggerating. But what if he wasn't? Germany had always said he loved Italy. He had gone as far to say he would always love him. Had he said the same thing to Britain, long ago? Had Britain cast a spell on him, just as Romano had said, so that he would never love anyone else?

The thoughts wouldn't leave him. He tried to push them away, but they settled in his heart and refused to be undone. He flinched as Germanys laptop clicked shut, not realising he had been lost in his own head, and how dark it had gotten. Germany stretched before looking around at him.

"Sorry to keep you." He apologised "I've been trying to figure out what's been going on with Prussia and his friends. There's not a lot in the news, but their spat is starting to affect their countrymen, so I need to resolve it quickly."

Italy shook his head.

"That's okay." He assured "I know your work's important. Besides, I've been thinking about some things on my own."

"Oh yeah?" he sounded genuinely happy "Like what?"

"Oh, nothing important." He lied "Nothing you'd want to know about."

"On the contrary," Germany assured as he got up, stretching again and lying down on the bed where Italy was sat "I could use a distraction. What's on your mind?"

"Well…" he chewed over his words "Is it true, I mean, Prussia told me… about you and Britain?"

"Me and Britain what?"

"That you… you used to be… a …. couple…"

"Oh? Yeah, that's true." Germany admitted easily "I thought you knew?"

"No…sorry."

"It's nothing to apologise for." Germany said with a laughed "It was a very long time ago."

"Isn't it weird for you?" Italy dared "I mean, you speak to him all the time, sometimes for hours and hours, and you're always working together and-"

"It's not so weird." Germany assured him "It was stranger when we were fighting, to be honest. Doing business together has always been very natural for us." He laughed "I could never understand Britain – one moment he was serious, the next he was messing about with my brother. It was a confusing couple of months. We were much better off just being friends."

"Hm…"

Italy surveyed Germanys face for a moment. His blue eyes were closed, dark circles beneath them. Despite being tired, he seemed perfectly at ease. Italy lay down beside him. For a moment, he was silent, wanting to ask, but too afraid to hear the answer.

"Do you… ever miss him?" he ventured.

"Miss him? How can I miss him when he never went away?"

That wasn't the answer he wanted. A few moments later, Germany was asleep, leaving Italy alone with his paranoia.

* * *

The meeting was put on hold on Sunday. There was nothing left on the agenda to discuss, but with France, Prussia and Spain at each others throats, the gathered nations couldn't be disbanded.

"Okay, I'm totally listening this time." America promised "Explain it to me again."

Britain groaned and buried himself further into his book. Beside him on the blanket, Canada and Mr. Kumajiro picked at the cold meats and sandwiches. Japan, ever patient, placed his chopsticks onto his serviette before addressing America.

"In the past, all the countries of Europe were at war." He explained again "Who they were at war with changed a lot."

"Why?" America interrupted.

"Why…" Japan tried his best to sum it up.

"The same reason you're always at war with someone." England interrupted, trying to save some time.

"Because they're heroes bringing democracy to the world?"

"Shut up and listen." Canada ordered before picking at the devilled eggs.

"As I said," Japan continued "Who they were at war with changed a lot. As you know, there are several families in Eurasia – The Germanics, Austria; Germany; Switzerland; Prussia and Lichtenstein; the Celts, France; Britain; Scotland; Wales and Ireland; Russia and his sisters; China and the other Asian countries; and the Italies, to name but a few. Even though they were family, they were still often at war with each other."

"That's sad." America interrupted again, stuffing a cheese and watercress sandwich in his mouth "I couldn't imagine being at war against Canada."

"I'd totally slaughter you." Canada pointed out casually, eating a prawn cocktail "It'd be genocide."

"Completely." Mr. Kumajiro agreed.

"Although they weren't family, and often their bosses put then on the opposite sides of conflicts, France, Prussia and Spain were always good friends, no matter what happened." Japan elaborated "Even when the Nazi's were in power, France and Spain never blamed Prussia for what happened."

"Okay." America said, although he sounded sceptical.

"Many thought that a unified Europe was impossible, but the three of them were proof that the decisions of our governments didn't have to dictate our relationships. Their friendship created a stable powerbase for the current EU to be built on. That they're fighting now is serious because it's shaking that foundation, and soon people will be forced to pick sides, and the European Union may break down entirely."

The other three watched Americas face as he chewed the information over again.

"They're a foundation?" he mused.

"Yes." Japan confirmed.

"And because they're fighting, all the other European countries are going to start fighting too?"

"Yes." Japan confirmed again.

"And there are families involved?"

"Yes."

"So… they're the mafia?"

Britain and Japan groaned. Canada burst out laughing as he munched on the chips.

"Dude, you're a fucking idiot!" he laughed.

Japan turned to him.

"Canada, whatever it is you've taken, may I have some?"

"It'll cost you!"

Britain groaned again. He and Japan couldn't explain it any simpler – there were hundreds, over a thousand years of history involved in this. An instant gratification addict like America couldn't understand. Britain got slightly annoyed as he felt America lean against his back – the idiot was heavy!

"Why don't you just build new foundations?" he asked.

"And how do you recommend we do that?" the Brit asked.

"I dunno… cement?"

"Don't be a simpleton, America. The European Union is an institution, not a building. When cracks appear, it's not so easy to fix. Why else do you think we have so many meetings?"

"So, whose side are you on?" Mr. Kumajiro asked suddenly.

"It's a bad idea to pick sides at this stage." Japan warned.

"I'm on Prussias side." The bear elaborated "He has cool hair."

"That's a stupid reason." Britain scolded.

"Like hell it is! My hair is awesome!"

They all jumped a little as Prussia seemed to appear out of nowhere, sticking his hand in the bowl of crisps Canada was holding.

"What's up, losers?"

"How long have you been there, you prick?" Britain demanded.

"Long enough to know your little brother is as dumb as mine is brawny."

"Hey, that's mean!" America screeched.

Prussia stood strait before plonking himself down on the ground before Britain so his legs had the Brits pinned below them.

"Whatcha reading?" he asked.

"If you have time to be messing about, shouldn't you be trying to sort out this issue with France and Spain?" Britain pointed out.

"That's what I am doing." Prussia assured, holding up his handful of crisps "Dorito?"

"Dude!" America interrupted, leaning over further so Britain was effectively sandwiched between him and Prussia "This is lame! You guys are friends! Just make up already so I can go home!"

"Children should stay out of things they don't understand." Prussia quipped, flicking a Dorito in Americas face.

America grimaced. Britains shoulders were starting to hurt under his weight.

"How is insulting America going to make up with France and Spain?" he asked.

"So, whose side are you on?" Prussia asked him, ignoring his question.

"I don't have a side." Britain said with a sigh.

"I'm on the side that lets me go back to America! I've been aching for a Taco Bell for like a week!"

"Oh? You're not on Frances side?" Prussia seemed happy.

"Don't ignore me!"

"If France has done something wrong, I'll be first in line to kick his arse." Britain assured "But until I know exactly what's going on, I can't really comment, can I?"

"He hasn't told you?"

"If you don't stop ignoring me, I'm totally going to bring democracy to your country."

"No. He's being annoyingly obtuse. I take it you're not going to tell me either, Prussia?"

"Hm?" Prussia leaned dangerously close and twirled a lock of Britains hair between his fingers "I might, if you ask me nicely."

Neither blinked. Britain looked Prussia right in the eye, trying to figure out his expression – he wore his normal mischievous face, but there was something else behind it, something eager about his eyes that Britain couldn't put his fingers on. He flinched a little when he realised Prussia was pulling off his tie.

Britains shoulders gave out as America launched at Prussia, throwing him to the ground before stretching his arm back to punch him in the face. The young nation didn't take Prussias centuries of experience in battle to account, and the quick German struck him under the chin before he could strike, throwing him off. Like lightning, he kicked America in the stomach. He stumbled back, but the large nation was hard to wind. He got to his feet and launched at Prussia again. Prussia dodged, Americas fist connecting with the tree behind, shattering it to splinters.

"Britain-san, please stop them!" Japan urged, trying his best to get out of the way while wearing his traditional dress "They're going to destroy the park!"

"I say, you two, cease this infernal nonsense this moment, you ruffians!" Britain ordered, but his cries went unheeded.

Prussia kicked up a branch from the broken tree wielded it expertly, cracking America on the back, leg and neck as he lurched after him. Prussia cackled – he knew there was no way he was going to hurt a big fella like America, but there was no way a child like him was going to land a blow on Prussia. America half roared, putting his whole weight behind him, and launched at Prussia. His blow connected. But not with Prussia.

"C-Canada?"

Canada stood between America and Prussia, Americas fist in his palm. He looked at his brother sternly.

"Don't start fights over nothing." He scorned in his willowy voice "This is why people call you stupid, America. You're destroying the park."

"I…uh…"

Canada threw his brothers fist aside before turning to Prussia, who noticeably flinched.

"It isn't nice to tease people when they're worried about you." He chastised, poking him in the chest "You and your friends are causing a real problem for everyone, the least you can do is be sorry!"

"Sorry." Prussia said immediately.

Canada sighed, returning to his normal calm self.

"You guys are so troublesome." He whined.

"Britain-san, did you know Canada-kun was that strong?!" Japan asked as he cowered beside Britain, as far away from the other three as was reasonable without leaving entirely.

"I suspected, but actually seeing it is something else." Britain confessed "Wow."

They both flinched as Canada came back to them. He looked sad.

"So much for our picnic." He mentioned "All the food's ruined."

He glared at his brother and Prussia, who also flinched.

"I'll get more!" Prussia promised quickly "There's a supermarket down the road!"

"I'll go with you!" America offered, and the two sped out of the park.

"Oi, at least help us clean up the mess you made first, you wankers!" Britain yelled, but they were already gone.

* * *

Prussia never did reveal what the fight was about. Canada sat between him and America as they continued their picnic in the park with the newly bought food, neither of them looking at him. Britain wondered if it was Prussia or America who was more surprised about how strong the soft-spoken nation actually was. Britain was a little proud, actually.

That night, Britain sat alone in his hotel room, BBC news playing quietly in the background as he caught up on a little paperwork. There was unrest growing between the French, Spanish and Germans, for reasons the BBC didn't understand but were desperately trying to dig up, and it was threatening the EU bailout plans and getting their neighbouring countries worried. Britain cursed – France wouldn't talk, Prussia wouldn't talk… tomorrow, he was going to have to ask Spain. The Spaniard was painfully honest, and he was sure he could get the truth out of him.

There was a knock at the door. It was so faint, Britain didn't realise it had happened until the caller knocked again, equally as quietly. He looked at the clock – it was already 10pm! Who goes calling this time of night?! Incensed, he got up from his chair and went to the door, ready to give said caller a piece of his mind, only to find a shivering Italy stood in the hallway.

"Oh, it's you." He said with a sigh "What do you want this time of night, Italy?"

Italy mumbled something, but was practically inaudible, and he was shaking badly as he stared at the floor.

"What's that? Speak up, lad!"

Italy finally looked up. Britain was taken aback – his hazel eyes were red rimmed, tears streaming down his face. How long had he been crying?

"Please don't take Germany." He pleaded, his voice hoarse.

"Italy…"

"Please! I'll do anything! Please don't take Germany!"

"What are you talking about?"

Italy grabbed Britain shirt, his voice growing loud and desperate.

"I'll do anything you want!" he cried "I'll be you henchman, I'll give you all my land, I'll even eat your cooking! Just please, break your spell on Germany! Please don't take him from me!"

"What?"

Britain took Italy by the shoulders, forcing him to stand strait, and looked him in the eye.

"What spell? What are you taking about? What's going on?!"

* * *

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! THAT'S WHAT THIS IS ALL ABOUT?!"

"It would seem so." Britain grumbled, arms crossed over his chest as he addressed the gathered nations.

"Britain, dude!" America laughed "I had no idea you were such a playa boi!"

"Never say that again." Britain ordered.

"That brother of mine." Germany sighed, still rubbing Italys back as the smaller nation struggled to stop sobbing in his lap "What does he think he's doing?"

"Romano-kuns evil spell theory certainly didn't help matters." Japan agreed, patting Italy's hand.

"Well, are we sure?" China questioned "Britain, do you cast such spells on your lovers?"

"Certainly not!" Britain swore "That kind of magic is simply horrid!"

"_Ja_, I can vouch for that." Germany agreed "I have no such feelings for Britain anymore."

"Maybe he cast it wrong and hit your brother instead." China supposed.

"I did no such thing!"

"Now, now, if Britain says he didn't, I believe him." Russia cooed.

"Thank you, Russia!"

"We'll just have to beat their heads in with a pipe until they promise to behave, _da_?"

"Please don't."

"Isn't this all a moot point?" Canada supposed "I mean, you're _with_ France, right?"

Britain grumbled, staring at the floor. A hush fell on the crowd.

"Yeah, I'd be pissed too." China agreed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully "If my lover kept something so important from me, I'd definitely break up with him."

"But you _do_ still love him?" Canada urged "Don't you?"

Britain didn't reply right away.

"Do you?" America repeated.

"I do love him." Britain replied with a sigh "But I'm furious. I feel so betrayed. Of all the ways for him to screw up…" he huffed again, chewing in his tongue.

"It's late." Germany pointed out after a moment of silence "There's nothing to be done at this time of night. We'll reconvene in the morning to discuss how to proceed."

"Good idea." Britain agreed, getting up from his seat "I'm too mad to plan straight right now."

With mutters and glances, they dispersed. China and Russia hung back a moment, allowing Germany to half carry the emotionally exhausted Italy out of the room ahead of them.

"Italy, you mustn't keep these kinds of things from me!" he urged gently "If you have thoughts like this again, you must tell me!"

"I will, Germany. I'm sorry…"

Germany kissed his head gently, and they disappeared into their room. China and Russia continued down the hall to the lift, where they stood in silence a moment as they descended.

"This is absurd." China commented "This is Britains problem, I don't see why we should have to get involved."

"I feel sorry for France." Russia admitted.

"Why? This is all his fault!"

"Didn't you hear Britain? He said 'of all the ways for him to screw up', that means he was expecting him to do something wrong from the start."

"Oh! You're right." China agreed.

Russia laughed.

"France will have to be very careful, I think, or someone more reliable will come along and take Britain from him."

"You don't think Britain will stay with France?"

"I think Britain doesn't like weak people. France is weak."

"So are Prussia and Spain – a bankrupt nation and country that no longer exists." China smiled "And a playboy that's never satisfied. What pathetic suitors."

"Britain can do better." Russia agreed.

The lift stopped. The two got out and turned to each other.

"I do like strong nations." China pointed out.

"_Da_, as do I." Russia agreed.

The smiled at each other, bid each other good night, and went to their rooms.

* * *

I give with one hand and take with the other, haha. So, Italy's arc is over - sorry for those of you who wanted Germany to be involved in this love-shape-of-many-sides, but GerIta is sacred! What will Britain do about the Bad Touch Trio? Will his relationship with France last? What are China and Russia planning?! Stayed tuned for another exciting episode of Dragonball Z! Wait, that's not right...


	8. Chapter 8 The Lion Awakens

If you'll excuse me, I'll be over here in the corner, dying of embarrassment.

* * *

**The Lion Awakens.**

Spain had turned his room upside down. Every drawer, cupboard, suitcase and overnight bag lay overturned, empty, inside out and ruined, their contents stacked in a heap on the bed. Where was it? Where was it?!

His blood was boiling – Britains coat, the only thing he had of his, was gone. Who had taken it? Prussia? France? Those bastards… those bastards! How dare they take something that was his! In his rage, he grabbed the table and threw it aside. Who was it? Who had let themselves into his room and gone through his things? He knew Prussia could pick locks. He knew France was just the kind of person to steal something like this. Who was it? This splinter in his heart – that coat was his most secret possession, now exposed for everyone to know about!

Prussia. It had to be Prussia! This was his style! Spain spun on his heels and marched to the door, ready to give the German a piece of his mind. The door to his room opened, stopping him in his tracks.

"Wha?!" Romano flustered "Don't scare me like that, you bastard, I thought you were going to kill me! What? What the hell happened in here?!"

"Get out of my way, Romano!" Spain ordered, grabbing the nations shoulder to push him aside "I have business to settle with that bastard Prussia!"

"Why? What happened?"

"He stole my fucking coat!" Spain announced "I'm going to beat his ass until he tells me where it is!"

He pushed Romano aside, but the smaller man grabbed his hand before he could leave.

"Prussia didn't take your coat." He announced.

Spain stopped and turned to him.

"Then who did?! France?!"

"I did."

Romano looked him right in the eye, resolute, but Spain was too angry to deal with his bullshit.

"Where is my coat, Romano?" he growled, menace dripping from his every word.

"In the garbage, where it belongs."

Spains world stopped. Time and space collapsed.

"What?"

"I threw it in the garbage!" Romano repeated "As long as you have that damn thing, you'll never be free of Britain!"

"You!"

Spain grabbed Romano by the front of his shirt, bringing him nose to nose as he felt the heat rising.

"Give it back!" He growled.

"I don't have it." Romano spat "It's in the landfill with the other trash."

Spain saw red. His whole body was aflame. Romano. Romano! How could he? The one person he trusted most! The one person who knew this shameful part of him! Traitor!

He pulled his fist back, ready to strike the traitor in his lying face. How dare he? How dare he?!

He stopped. Romano. Fucking Romano. His fucking Romano. Traitor. His traitor Romano. He couldn't.

He lowered his arm, releasing Romanos shirt.

"Get out." He growled.

"Eh?"

"GET OUT!" he roared, grabbing Romanos arm and throwing him out the door, slamming it closed behind him with such force that the very wall shook.

What now? What now?!

* * *

Britain brushed his teeth. He hadn't slept too well last night. Events had been circling in his mind, and the more he thought about it, the more embarrassed he became. He remembered all those years ago when he had found a bereft France drunk and sobbing in Piccadilly. Even back then, the fight had been about him? How absurd. How embarrassing! It made him slightly sick.

He could understand why Spain might have feelings for him – their tryst in the past had been quite something, afterall. It still made him blush to think about it. He had had relationships since, but… nothing quite like that. Perhaps Spain wanted to return to the glory days? Recapture the energy they had had back then, the… the _passion_?

He blushed at his own thoughts, scolding himself for being stupid, even as memories of said passion flickered through his mind. What they had was a long time ago, when they were young and reckless. They were both different people now, calmer, more mature. Remove the passion of youth, and the two were ill-suited for each other, he thought. He decided it would be best to talk to Spain first – he was sensible enough to listen to reason, at least.

Prussia was a little harder to accept. The two of them were great friends, it was true – there was no-one else Britain could goof around with like Prussia. They liked the same music, the same movies, they even had the same taste in clothes! Well, when they weren't working, anyway. When things hadn't worked out with him and Germany, Prussia hadn't taken sides – Britain at the time had put it down to him being a good friend and brother, but looking back… had it been something more? Had Prussia had feelings for him even back then?

Then why hadn't he made a move before now? It's true that Prussia was infamously awkward about relationships (he was raised by the Teutonic knights, afteral), but over a hundred years? It's not like he hadn't had the opportunity. The two behaved like a couple of teenagers when they were together, which sometimes included sleeping in the same bed, but nothing had ever happened. Truth be told… truth be told, Britain was slightly disappointed. Friends – _true_ friends – were hard to come by. He thought he had a true friend in Prussia, but knowing that he had had these feelings for him, and for so long… if anything, he felt betrayed.

And betrayal bought him right back to France. Fucking France. When France had confessed his love, talked of marriage and playing happy families… he had wanted so much for it to all be true. So, so much. He wanted to throw away his pride, as France had said he had done, and be together and be happy, but the nagging voice at the back of his brain wouldn't let be. _France can't be trusted_, it knew. Notorious player, running off with a different woman every week. Expert talker of sweet nothings to get his way – nothing he ever said could be trusted.

It hurt his heart. He wanted to trust France, but he just couldn't. He loved France, he did. He just couldn't trust him. Things like this were the reason why. Why hadn't France told him the truth from the start, all those years ago in London? Didn't they think he would have wanted to have a say in the matter? Why had France broken his promise after all these years? How could he turn his back on his friends? If Prussia and Spain couldn't trust him to keep his word, how could England?

Britain dressed, slipping the hotel key in his pocket before heading out. He would talk to Spain first. He knew Germany wanted to discuss the matter further before acting, but Britain thought Spain would be easy to deal with, since he could understand where he was coming from. The halls of the hotel were almost empty, despite the building being full of nations. He didn't see anyone at all until he got to Spains room, where Romano was squatting outside, sitting against the far wall with his head in his hands.

"Hello, Romano." He greeted curtly, since the two of them didn't particularly get along "Is Spain in his room?"

Romano leapt up, sudden enough to cause Britain to flinch. His eyes were red, his usual pissed expression replaced with a genuine rage.

"You!" he spat "You fucking bastard! This is all because of you!"

"You what?"

"I'll fucking KILL YOU!"

Romano launched at him. Britain dodged, but a sharp pain shot through his chest. His blood hit the floor. Romano had a knife. The cut across his chest was bad.

"Romano, you little shit!" Britain growled, furious and in pain "What the fuck are you doing?!"

"I'll break the spell you cast over Spain," he swore, swaying on his feet "Even if it means I have to kill you!"

He flung at him again, knife ready to slash. This time he was prepared. Britain dodged left, ducked, fist clenched, and let fly at Romano, striking him in the face. The Italian stumbled. Britain grabbed his knife wielding arm, bending it back with sudden force. With a cry of startled pain, he let go of the knife, and Britain pushed him down.

Like a shot, Romano kicked him in the stomach, forcing him back – he had moves afteral. He leapt at Britain, pinning him down and striking him once, twice, thrice, before Britain bought his legs up with force, kneeing him hard in the back. Romano lurched forward from the pain, meeting Britains Glasgow Kiss straight on. He fell back, and Britain struck, hard. Blood flew from his nose as it broke, Romano falling back.

Britain was older, stronger, more experienced. He grabbed Romanos shirt and hauled him to his feet, kneeing him in the face. The Italian spluttered, choking on blood. Britain punched him, grabbed his shirt to pull him back and punched him again. His cut chest stung fiercely, adding a bitter anger to his every blow.

"You little shit." Britain swore again as Romano fell against the wall "You've got some balls, attacking me like that. Too bad mine are bigger."

Britian picked up the knife. Romano shrunk away.

"Someone needs to teach you your place, little brat." He spat.

The world flung away as Britain was struck. He fell against the wall, dropping the knife, and spun around.

"Spain…"

The Spaniard surveyed the scene before him in silent fury. Blood poured from Romanos face and Britains chest.

"Spain!" Romano pleaded, holding out his hand to him.

Spain looked at him in contempt. He turned his back on him, holding out his hand to Britain. Romanos face dropped, eyes wide as he started to shake.

"Spain?" he whimpered.

Britain took Spains hand and allowed himself to be pulled up. His balance was short lived, as Spain punched him in the face with force, throwing him back. Someone behind him caught him. A crowd had gathered.

He looked at Spain, shocked, as his eyes turned hard against him. With a final look, he turned back to Romano, taking his shaking body in his arms.

"Romano, you idiot." He swore, voice low "You're not nearly strong enough to fight Britain."

"Y-You're the idiot!" Romano roared, uselessly hitting him on the shoulder "Idiot Spain! Bastard Spain! Stupid, stupid Spain!"

Romano started coughing – blood still poured from his face. Spain picked him up, half carrying him back into his room and slamming the door closed with his feet.

"What was that about?" a voice in the crowd whispered.

"Why'd he do that?"

"What's his problem?"

"Is he nuts, or what?"

"Britain, are you alright?" Chinas voice stood out among the crowd.

Britain looked around – it was China who had caught him. Adrenaline ebbing, he was suddenly embarrassed, stumbling to his feet.

"Yes, thank you." He said "And sorry."

"Why didn't you hit him back?" China asked, clearly annoyed "You would have won."

"What would be the point?" Britain pointed out "Spain was hardly a threat and AH!"

He swore as his chest started to throb – it was still bleeding, and without the adrenaline, it was starting to hurt.

"Come with me." China ordered "We need to get that seen to right now."

"That's alright China." Britain assured "I can get myself to a hospital."

"And tell them what? That your ex-lovers man-child ward came after you with a knife? I think not!"

China grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall.

"I have everything in my room that you need." He swore "Going to the hospital would just be a waste of time. Besides, my medicine is better anyway."

"China…"

"Don't argue. Your elders know what's best."

They arrived at Chinas room, and Britain was all but pushed inside by the smaller man.

"Oh, China," Russia called from inside "Where did you go for so long? Did you get the ice?"

"No, I didn't." he confessed.

"Oh?"

Russia sat on Chinas bed, looking most at home – he had even taken his jacket off, sat about in his vest and jeans. Britain was surprised – Russia was somewhat pudgy. He looked very surprised to see Britain.

"Oh no, what happened?!" he asked as he saw all the blood, almost getting up from the bed.

"That idiot Romano went picking a fight he couldn't win." China relayed, pushing Britain further into the room and heading for the bathroom.

"Is he dead?" Russia asked.

"No, but only because that weakling Spain intervened."

Britain wasn't sure if Chinas room was smaller than his, or if the presence of the worlds largest nation just made it feel so, but he was feeling claustrophobic. His head started to spin from the blood loss. He stumbled back, but Russia caught him, holding him up surprisingly gently.

"Russia," Britain realised he was panting "Sorry."

Russia smiled at him.

"That's okay." He said "You're bleeding quite badly."

"Take your shirt off right now." China ordered as he came back from the bathroom with a wooden box under his arm, mixing something in a pestle and mortar.

"Maybe I should just see a doctor." Britain suggested, remembering that Chinese medicine contained all kinds of interesting ingredients.

"Don't be silly!" Russia urged, pulling off Britains light jacket himself "Chinas medicine is very good! You'll feel better in no time!"

"Even so-"

With a flick oh his wrist, China had undone all the buttons of Britains ruined shirt.

"Hold him still." He ordered Russia "This will sting, and I don't want him wriggling."

Russia did as he was asked, grabbing him firmly at the shoulders and pulling him back to he was leant against him. Britain started to get decidedly uncomfortable as Russia snaked a large, pale arm around his waist to keep him pinned against him, and China tentatively pulled up his bloody vest.

"This isn't deep, but it bled a lot." China informed him "I'll have to clean it up first."

Britain flinched as China pressed a damp cloth against his bruised chest, dabbing at the blood. He could feel Russias breath against the side of his face. China had surprisingly gentle hands for someone with such a blunt tongue. His eyes flicked up at Britains face a moment, and he smiled as he looked back down.

"You look flustered." He teased.

"I feel dizzy." He admitted.

"Must be the blood loss." Russia reasoned "I'll hold you tighter so you don't fall, _da_?"

He did just that, tightening his grip on his waist and shoulder, but it only made Britain feel more uncomfortable.

"Um-"

"Keep still!" China ordered again "Or you'll have another scar to add to your collection." He smiled again, blushing slightly "Not that that's bad."

"I honestly thought you'd have more." Russia confessed, looking over Britains shoulder at his torso "Considering all the wars you've fought in."

"I really think I should leave OW!"

"Looks tender." China teased "It's already starting to bruise."

"Then why did you poke it, you git?!"

China smiled flirtatiously.

"Did it hurt?" he asked.

"Of course it hurt!"

"Aw, I'm sorry. Let me kiss it better."

"What?"

Tentatively, China kissed the bruised flesh that surrounded the freshly cleaned cut.

"Y-You!"

He kissed it again. Britains whole body grew hot. China pulled his hair out of its ponytail, taking Britains torso in his hands, and continued to kiss him.

"Y-you." Britain stuttered "Stop!"

"_Da_, China, you're not being fair!" Russia teased.

Britain startled. For a moment, he had forgotten he was there.

"So? I'm not stopping you." China pointed out.

"I say, that's enough of this!" Britain declared, trying to push China away.

China grabbed his wrist, twisting his arm around painfully. With Russias iron grip in his other arm, he was rendered practically immobile, head spinning worse than before. China grinned again as Britain grimaced.

"Strong countries are wonderful." He thought aloud "You've already stopped bleeding. That weakling Romano's probably still crying over his broken nose."

China licked his lips as he looked Britain in the eye, confirming his suspicions.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked "Isn't there enough of a mess without you getting involved as well?"

"I like strong nations." China repeated "It's a weakness we share."

"We?"

Britain flinched noticeably as Russia moved his arm from his waist, slipping his hand down the front of his trousers.

"You! That's! Stop!"

"You're enjoying it." Russia teased as Britains body reacted.

"Ah!"

"The idiot trio have declared open season." China informed him as he writhed in Russias hands "We're staking our claim. Unlike the other three, we're not afraid to share."

"You-!"

China silenced him with his mouth, pressing against him so he was sandwiched between the two of them. Chinas free arm wrapped around his shoulder and grabbed his head, roughly taking a fistful of his hair as he twisted his other arm. From behind, he felt Russias mouth against his neck, kissing gently at first, then roughly, sucking and nibbling his flesh. His chest throbbed, his head spun. Russias hand… it felt…_good_. China was a good kisser, knowing exactly what to do with his tongue. The pressure was building.

No. This was bad. It had to stop! And yet… and yet… China released Britains mouth, letting him cry out as he came in Russias hand, his whole body shuddering. China laughed as Britain panted, releasing his wrist and wrapping his arms around his shaking torso.

"Did that feel good?" he cooed, rubbing his back.

"You…you bastards…"

"That's mean." Russia teased before licking up the saliva he had left on Britains neck "And we're being such good friends."

"Let me go!" Britain ordered.

"Why?" Russia asked.

"Don't be a tease, Russia." China cooed again, running his fingers through Britains hair "He doesn't get your sense of humour."

Russia laughed. He took his hand out of Britains trousers, suggestively running his finger along the flesh at his waistband. Britain was incensed.

"Let me go." He repeated.

"Why?" this time China asked, fingers caressing his chest "You're just going to end up back here anyway."

"That's not going to happen!"

"It is." China guaranteed with a smile "Because strong nations belong with other strong nations. The idiot trio – a bankrupt, a playboy, and a nation that hasn't existed in years – what do they think they have to offer you? Stop slumming with them and join us. You'll grow bored with them soon enough."

Britain was flabbergasted. How long had China been having thoughts like this? And Russia?! That was truly out of the blue!

"Why now?" Britain asked "When all this shit is going on!"

"_Because_ it is." China corrected "There's a certain pleasure to be had in flirting with someone who's oblivious, as you are, but it's annoying watching those weaklings paw at you like puppies desperate for food."

"While they fight between themselves like dogs, we take the more direct route and win." Russia supposed.

"Win? You can't 'win'! This isn't a game!"

"But we'll still win." China assured before kissing Britain again.

There was a click. Russia looked up. China, releasing only Britains lips, looked around.

"Oh, look." He said curtly "The little boy is here."

Americas whole face was bright red, but whether it was anger or embarrassment was impossible to know. His eyes darted about, like he didn't know where to look, but he kept his gun pointed straight at Russia.

"You commies get your hands off him!" he ordered.

"Commies?" Russia sighed "It's coming up to fifty years, you still can't let go of that?"

"I said let go!"

"Who told you it was okay to invite yourself into someone elses room?" China chastised in the way only he was capable off "You didn't even knock. How rude."

"Typical America, always trying to solve his problems with guns." Russia went on "When the light bulb goes out, do you change it or just shoot it?"

With a frustrated squeal, America grabbed the back of Chinas shirt. The small man let out a surprised yelp as he was prized away from Britain and thrown onto the bed beside Russia. America shoved his gun right into Russias face, grimacing. Russia simply smiled, releasing his grip on Britain and holding his hands up in surrender.

Without Russias support, Britains legs gave way, and America had to catch him before he fell. He put his gun away, lifted Britain over his shoulders and ran quickly from the room.

"Aaah," China whined, resting his head on his hand as he lay on the bed "And that was going so well."

"I'm not worried." Russia confessed as he licked his fingers "It is as you say – he will definitely come back."

* * *

I am now dead. Thank you for reading my last work.

But seriously, writing this kind of stuff is embarrassing for me! Could I have felt it out? Probably, actually. Why do I do this to myself?!

So it seems like Spain has picked a side - or am I just teasing you? There are two many fics where the characters just seem to accept things, or do things that the audience is just expected to accept without ever knowing why, which bothers me - I wanted to take a look, however briefly, at how England feels about the Bad Touch Trio and the mess they've made. 'Because I love XX, not XX' isn't enough story for me...

With Russia and China getting involved, things look to be getting worse before they get better. And where the hell is France?!


	9. Intermission

**Intermission.**

Ok, so this is the part where I'm a massive tease – sorry for those expecting a new chapter (I only posted one yesterday, don't be greedy!). For this intermission, I bring you a dilemma and a choice!

Don't worry, I haven't lost my way with 'Mine' (that would imply I knew what I was doing), my dilemma is 'what do I write next?'

Now, I know what you're thinking – 'finish this first, dummy!' And I will! I won't start anything else until 'Mine' is finished, but I've got a couple of ideas buzzing around, and I'm curious to know what people want to read, so I'm opening it up for voting! One of these ideas tickle your fancy? Drop me a line! (Review or PM, I'm not fussy). The one that receives the most votes will be written as soon as 'Mine' concludes.

**1. The World is One with Russia**

(Ugh, fail title. I'll think of a better one). Russia rules the world. All nations, bar America, have succumb to his influence, and have no choice but to bow to his iron fist for the sake of their people. America alone stands in opposition, and he will free the world! Afterall, he's the hero!

**2. Three's a Crowd**

Rowdy Gilbert and tomboy Elizavetta grew up together. They always got into trouble together, fought together, laughed together, and Gilbert thought it would always be that way, but when Elizavetta meets dashing young Roderich – the first man to ever treat her like a lady – things start to change.

**3. I'll Find My Own Place**

Sequel to 'In Your Place' – Despite years of research, America can't find a way to undo Russias spell, and it's driven him half mad, wondering what could have been. With the help of his brother Canada, he starts to move forward, and find his own place in the world.

**4. The Man Who Wasn't There**

(I forgot about this one earlier! I knew I had missed something). Arthur Kirkland moves into a new house with his young twin boys, Alfred and Matthew, after their mother dies. The Kirkland line has always been full of psychics and exorcists, but after what happened to his wife, Arthur is keen to keep his boys away from that world. That world, however, has its own ideas.

**5. Wildcard**

Okay, totally cheating here, I know. Do you have a story you'd like to see written? Pitch me an idea! It does a mind good to get out of its comfort zone. If your idea seems interesting – even if its just a drabble – I look forward to hearing it!

Alright, voters, drop me a line! I look froward to hearing from you!


	10. Chapter 10 I Surrender

I Surrender.

Oh, alright, you can have another chapter!

* * *

**I Surrender.**

Very, very gently, Spain wiped the blood of Romanos face. The Italian was still shaking – he clearly hadn't expected the fight to end the way it did. His nose was broken for sure, parts of his face swelling and discolouring, and his knuckles were scratched and bloody. There was no sound in the room, save for the ticking of the clock, as Spain tended to his wounds. He sighed.

"What did you think you were doing?" he chastised again, barely above a whisper.

"I was saving you." Romano swore, flinching badly as a crack in his jaw made itself known.

"You idiot."

Romano held his breath as Spain stuck the bandage over his nose.

"This is going to take a long time to heal." Spain pointed out "We should take you to hospital, you know."

"I'm fine!"

He flinched again. Spain sighed and gently put his arms around his shoulders.

"Idiot." He scorned again

"Don't call me an idiot! I did it for you!"

Romano threw his arms around Spain, holding him tight, even as he winced from the pain of it. Spain sighed again, burying his face in Romanos soft hair, and wondered what the hell he was going to do now.

* * *

"Ow!"

"Stop moving, please."

"I moved because it hurt!"

"It won't hurt if you don't move."

Britain growled, but bit his tongue as Japan delicately applied the gauze.

"This isn't so bad." Japan assured him "You'll be healed in a few days."

"Why did he attack you?" Canada asked as he sad backwards on Japans desk chair "I mean, I don't know him very well, but this seems really out of the blue."

"He's jealous." Mr. Kumajiro supposed, sat at his feet.

"Romano has been Spains henchman for a very long time now." Britain told him "I guess his feelings for Spain were more than that of friends afteral. OW!"

"Stop moving, please."

"I guess with everything that's been going on, the idiot finally snapped."

Japan looked him in the eye a moment.

"Are you jealous?" he asked quietly.

"Not even slightly." Britain confessed "If that idiot Romano wants Spain, he's welcome to him. They deserve each other."

"Hm."

Japan went back to Britains chest, fixing the gauze in place before reaching for the bandages.

"You should report him." Canada suggested.

"To who?" Britain pointed out.

"Germany?"

Britain laughed, immediately regretting it as his chest hurt again.

"Th-that might actually work." He choked.

"Hold still, please."

On the bed, America fumed quietly, staring at Britain as Japan patched him up.

"It would probably best if you don't walk around alone for a while." Japan suggested "I'm sure Romano won't be the only one upset by the current events, nor is he the least unstable."

Britain groaned – there was nothing he liked less than being tailed like a naughty child.

"I would also be careful who you answered the door to." Japan went on "Until we confirm exactly what everyones intentions are, we don't know who can be trusted."

"I intend to eat your shoes." Mr. Kumajiro announced, reaching for them as he said so.

Britain snatched them away, glaring at the bear. Canada laughed.

"If it's any consolation, I have no intentions on you or your shoes." He promised.

"Actually, Canada, it is." Britain confessed "It's nice to know I can rely on you."

"Shoes!"

"Get off, you obnoxious fuzzball!"

"We can guarantee Germany-san is on our side, considering the upheaval this is causing, and Italy-kun will certainly be on his side."

"Thank to that idiot Romano, word about this is definitely is going to get around." Britain knew "People are going to start taking sides. We need to nip this in the bud now."

"Have you seen France-san lately?" Japan asked quietly.

"Not since the meeting broke up." He confessed.

"At least we know where Spain is." Canada pointed out "Prussia is harder to pin down."

"Ow!"

"God dammit, hold still you blond idiot, I swear I will cut you!"

"Fucking bear has my shoes!"

"Mr. Kumajiro, come back!"

Canada ran out the room after his bear as Japan pushed Britain back down and pulled his bandages extra tight to wind him into staying put. Britain grimaced, swallowed his pride, and turned to his friend.

"This is a mess." He complained "How the hell did this happen?"

"The human heart is a mysterious thing." Japan pondered.

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

Britain laughed awkwardly.

"You promise you're not in love with me too?" he asked.

"Of course I love you." Japan responded, smiling mischievously "As my dear, dear friend."

"If you weren't bandaging me, I swear I might punch you."

The two laughed as Canada returned, panting, bear under one arm and ruined shoes in his hand.

* * *

The air in the hotel was fraught. True to Britain expectations, word had spread, and sides were being picked. Hungary was the fierce leader of Team Prussia, wielding her frying pan at her belt as a warning. Belgium, flanked by Netherlands, marched about the halls taking names for Team Spain. Team France was the smallest, but by far the most vocal – Seychelles fashioned a dress of red, white and blue to show her support. The men, knowing what was best, did everything in their power to co-ordinate the woman away from each other, but the hotel wasn't big enough to avoid each other completely.

The walls themselves tensed as Belgium appeared at one end of the hall, Seychelles at the other, headed towards each other with hard eyes. All the men tensed, but the women marched past each other. Just as they started to relax, Belgium twitched.

"What did you say, Island Girl?" she spat.

Seychelles stopped, turning to Belgium.

"I wouldn't waste my breath insulting you, Waffle Girl." She retorted.

Belgium huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at her.

"How typical of a stupid little island girl to support that pervert France." She quipped "Only a true fool would think he stood a chance. God knows where he'd even find the time to woo Britain, what with striking every other day and fucking everything that moves."

Seychelles ground her teeth, putting her hands on her hips and grimacing.

"France is the country of love!" she pointed out "Spain is the country of tomatoes and bankruptcy! You would really have to be a glutton for punishment, a real no-hoper, a true masochist, to support a B.O covered half-wit like Spain!"

"What did you say, little bitch?!"

"You want a piece of me, old lady?!"

"It's a moot point." Hungary quipped as she strolled past them, nose in the air "Prussia is going to win Britains affections for sure. You girls are fighting over nothing."

"What's that?"

"Say that to my face, missus!"

They stopped as Britain appeared around the corner. He wasn't wearing a shirt, his chest bandaged, flanked by a sullen looking America. They all stared openly, but Britain stared straight ahead.

"Excuse me." He bid as he came close, and the ladies parted to let him by.

They watched him disappear around the next corner, listening for the disappearing thus of Americas heavy footsteps before turning to each other.

"Bandages?"

"What happened?"

"Was he attacked?"

"_Ja_, it was Romano." Austria informed them, pushing his glasses up his nose uncomfortably "He went after Britain with a knife earlier."

They all stared at him, Belgium going horribly pale.

"Romano, you fucktard!" she swore, turning on her heels and racing down the hall to Spains room.

"Why didn't you tell me?!" Hungary swore as Austria.

"I thought you knew." He answered "Isn't that this is all about?"

"Get you head out of your music sheets, pretty boy!" he screeched at him "I'm going to make sure Britains alright-"

"No, you're not!" Seychelles announced, grabbing her hair and pulled her back down the hall.

Chaos descended between Team Prussia and Team France. Stood at the side of the fray, Poland turned to Netherlands.

"So, like, whose side are you on?" he asked.

Without a word, Netherlands uncrossed his arms and pointed to his 'Team Spain' t-shirt.

"Like, dude, I don't think we can be friends anymore."

* * *

Britain sighed and threw aside his reading glasses. His eyes were tired. The light was low. Behind him on the bed, America snored lightly – he was still such a kid, staying up late without a videogame system was impossible for him. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed again. He was tired. He was stressed. He wanted a drink.

He looked at the clock on his laptop – it was almost midnight. He checked his phone again, but France still hadn't replied to his texts. Fuck it, the bar was 24 hours. He got up, checking briefly that America was still asleep before slipping the key in his pocket and putting on his shoes, closing the door gently. He shuffled down the hall, aware of the stinging pain in his chest. The silence was claustrophobic, so much so that the buzzing of the lights above him irritated his eyes. The groan of the lift was deafening. The murmur of white noise in the lobby was most unwelcome as he made his way through the restaurant and into the bar.

He stopped. Spain was slumped over the bar, bottle of tequila in one hand, empty glass in the other. Britain sighed – this wasn't the best place for them to meet, but fuck it. He sat beside him at the bar, ordering a bottle of scotch. Spain seemed to notice him, but didn't move for a while. England had drunk a whole glass before Spain acknowledged him.

"How's your chest?" he asked.

"It's not serious." Britain informed him "How's Romanos face?"

"Not good." Spain admitted, finally prizing his head off the bar "He bled for a long time. He'll take a while to heal."

"Well, reap what you sow." Britain muttered.

They fell into silence again. Spain tipped his bottle into his glass, but it was empty. He grimaced. Without a word, Britain refilled both their glasses with scotch, commencing staring the glasses of liquor behind the bar.

"Gracias." Spain muttered.

"It's fine."

More silence. Britain cursed himself – this was going to be harder than he thought.

"I'm sorry."

"What?"

Britain finally looked at Spain. He stared at his glass, eyes misty, cheeks flush.

"We really had something back then, didn't we?" he said, more to himself than Britain "All those years ago."

"I won't argue with that." Britain admitted.

Spain laughed.

"The open sea, the cannons, the adventure," he reminisced "Sometimes I wonder, 'was that really me?', 'did I really do all those thing?' Looking back, it's like a dream, wonderful and terrible, all colours and sounds." He looked at Britain "You know what I mean?"

"I do." He agreed "The way our lives are now is so removed from how we were then, it's hard to believe it happened at all."

Spain smiled sadly at him.

"I never felt passion like that before." He revealed, blushing a little more "Or since. I guess… I guess I just wanted… to know that it all really happened. That it wasn't a dream. That I'm capable of feeling, really feeling, not just coasting along like I always do." He sighed "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused you."

Britain took a swig of his drink. How could he put this without hurting Spains feelings?

"I don't have any of those kinds of feelings for you." He said bluntly.

"I know." Spain admitted with a sad laugh "But my heart won't listen to my head."

He downed his drink, and Britain refilled it for him.

"I think I may always love you." Spain confessed "My past self, for certain, belongs to you, but…"

Britain looked at him as he trailed off.

"But?" he asked.

"A man can't live in the past." He decreed "No matter how hard, I have to move forward. It's not just me who's in pain now."

Spain threw back his glass, slamming it down empty onto the table before standing.

"Thanks for the drink." He said "And please, tell France… tell him 'I surrender', okay?"

"You're giving up? Not that I'm complaining."

"You can understand, Britain." Spain suggested "If something was hurting America or Canada or Australia… any of your kids… you'd get rid of it, no matter how much it hurt you. That's what being a parent is."

He walked away, swaying lightly on his feet. Britain watched him go a moment.

"Spain!" he called after him.

"Si?" he called back.

Spain looked back at him. Britain surveyed him seriously.

"I wish you happiness." He swore "I really do."

Spain looked surprised a moment, then smiled in his usual dopey way.

"_Gracias, amigo_. See you at the next meeting, okay?"

Britain raised his glass to Spains back as he wobbled off.

* * *

It was nearly two in the morning when Prussia got back to the hotel. The lobby and bar were empty, save for the drunks and insomniacs that littered thereabouts. A certain drunk slumped at the bar caught his attention, and he immediately skipped over.

"Britain!" he called, far too loud for this time of night "You drinking alone, you saddo?!"

Britain didn't reply – his bottle of scotch was all but empty, and he rested his head on his arm, completely asleep. Prussia laughed – he was adorable! He took the bottle, downing the mouthful that was left before hitching Britain up, arm over his shoulder, and taking him to the lift.

* * *

And thus, Spains arc ends, somewhat bitter-sweetly, as he chooses Romano over Britain. :C Sorry, SpUk fans!


	11. Chapter 11 Take Me Seriously!

I'm sorry! (So very not sorry) I cant stop!

* * *

**Take Me Seriously!**

Britains head was spinning. From the moment he regained consciousness, he couldn't tell which way was up. Was he hung over, or still drunk? At least it was warm – the bed was soft, and the duvet fell in all the right places. As his mind cleared, the warmth puzzled him, but he remembered America had fallen asleep in his room. Hang on… as he became more aware of his surroundings, the body beside him felt off – the limbs were thinner, leaner than Americas, and the torso didn't feel as soft.

He opened his eyes. Prussias sleeping face lay before him, close enough to he could feel his breath on his nose. Britain was immediately relieved – at least it wasn't China! As he sighed, Prussia sleepily wrapped his arms around him, muttering inaudibly. There went his sense of relief. Especially as he finally realised they were both stripped to their boxers. With a shove, he pushed the sleeping Prussia away with such force that he fell off the bed.

"Fuck!" he swore as he woke up, more out of confusion than pain "What the hell?!"

Britain looked over the side of the bed. Prussia was rubbing his head where it had hit the floor, gangly legs still aloft. Spying Britain on the bed above him, he grinned.

"Would you believe that's not the worst way I've been woken up in the past week?" he joked.

"How did I get here?" Britain asked immediately.

"I found you in the bar." Prussia confessed as he struggled up back onto the bed "Drinking alone like the sad little island you are. The awesome me knew I couldn't leave you there, or you might get molested!"

Britains stomach turned – Prussia was more right than he knew. The albino looked concerned.

"Hey, you gonna throw up?!"

He grabbed Britain as he swayed slightly – the pain in his head reminded him of his earlier dilemma, revealing that he was, indeed, hung over.

"West will kill us both if you puke on the bed." Prussia joked.

With an aggravated moan, Britain pushed Prussia away. His red eyes filled with hurt and confusion.

"Britain?"

"Spain 'surrenders'." Britain informed him, growing more annoyed as he thought about it "And I haven't seen that fucker France in days. Where the hell have you been?"

Prussia grew serious. He examined Britain closely.

"He gave up?" he asked finally "Just like that?"

"Romano was causing trouble." He pointed out, gesturing to the bandages on his chest.

Prussia looked sad a moment.

"Poor guy." Then he smiled "Better chance for me!"

"You!" Britain grimaced.

With a sudden jerk, Prussia pulled Britain into his arms.

"I was putting together an awesome plan!" he confessed as he wrapped his arms around him "To show you that those losers can't compare! I have an awesome day planned!"

"Prussia-"

"I found this tea house I really think you're going to like." He went on "It's right by this river, and I know how you like ducks!"

"Prussia-"

"And after that, I got us tickets for Disney land! You always said you wanted to go."

"Prussia-"

"And after dinner I got us tickets to-"

"Prussia!"

Britain shoved him again. Prussias arms were longer, and his hands remained on Britains shoulders – he looked surprised that he was being pushed away. Britains head was throbbing, his chest starting to hurt, but he couldn't help but feel guilty when he saw Prussias hurt puppy expression.

"Don't be a simpleton." He scolded anyway, rubbing his eye as it too started to throb "Things are more complicated than that."

"Why?" Prussia asked "Spain's out of the running, I just have to compete with France, and I can totally do that!"

Britain laughed – he couldn't help but be amused by Prussias certainty and enthusiasm: they were some of his finest qualities.

"You think so?" he asked.

"Of course!"

He shuffled forward, sitting as he had done the other day in the park.

"That France is full of clichés!" he pointed out "All 'l'amore' this and 'l'amore' that! I know what you like! Death metal bands and ducks!"

Britain snorted with laughter.

"I may not be able to compare in bed," Prussia said awkwardly "But that kind of stuff doesn't matter if you've got a real emotional connection! I mean…" he blushed, looking away "That's what Hungary tells me, anyway. You may feel differently."

"Prussia-"

"Besides, I'm a fast learner!

"Prussia."

He listened this time, waiting expectantly for Britain to continue with a hopeful smile spread across his face. Britain sighed.

"Why didn't you tell me about this before?" he asked "Spain I can understand, France I can understand, but you? I thought you were more honest, at least."

Prussia immediately flushed bright red, but his smile stayed in place. His red eyes darted about, trying to look anywhere but at Britain, but with Britains stare fixed on him, he had no choice but to look back. With an embarrassed laugh, he rested his head on Britains shoulder.

"I didn't know that's what it was." He confessed "Love, I mean. I knew you were special to me, even when you were dating West, but I didn't put it down to anything. It's only when I was locked away by Russia… I missed everyone, of course, but you… I thought about you most, which was surprising… I mean, even West…"

Prussia was shaking slightly. Britain listened, but didn't respond, letting him say what he needed.

"When I was free, I thought, 'now's my chance!' I knew you'd probably be shocked, but I thought… my chances were good, but…" he sighed through his nose "I actually wanted Frances blessing. I knew you were super close, and our relationship might never work if he was against it. I wanted Wests blessing too, considering… but I think he'll be okay with it."

_How old fashioned_, Britain thought, the idea creeping in that it was also kind of adorable.

Prussia finally looked up – his eyes were slightly teary, but his hopeful smile remained.

"So, what do you say?" he asked "Will you give me a chance? I know you want more than sex, or you would have gone with Spain. I can do romance just as well as France, and you can be guaranteed that I won't run off with some pretty girl. What do you say?"

Britains heart was breaking – Prussias eyes were so hopeful as they stared into his. The longer it took him to reply, the more he started to shake, tears coming dangerously to the forefront.

"I can't." he replied.

The tears fell. Shaking badly, Prussia tried desperately to stop his quivering lips.

"Why?" he squeaked.

"Because Russia is involved."

His tears disappeared, replaced by a look of shock and confusion.

"What?"

Britain sighed – this was the cowards way out, but it was the truth. Prussia would never admit it, but he still had nightmares about his time behind the iron curtain. At all events, Russia and Prussia were to be kept apart, and not for Russias sake.

"I told you it was more complicated." Britain went on "Spain may be 'out', but China and Russia are definitely 'in.'" he huffed as he remembered the other day "And they are definitely not just going to accept 'no' for an answer."

Prussia kept staring at him, his eyes full of thought. He was still shaking, but for which reason was unclear. He knew well the lengths his friends and brother went to to keep Russia away from him, and he was at no illusions as to why. Slowly, he put his head back down on Britains shoulder. Britains heart skipped as he felt tears fell on his bare chest.

"Prussia-"

"I'm okay." He swore, his voice quaking "There's no way the awesome me is going to upset by this. No way."

"Hey-"

Prussia looked up suddenly, smiling through his tears.

"You didn't say 'no.'" he pointed out "As soon as that bastard Russia is out of the picture, I'll definitely win!" he laughed "There's no way those two stand a chance. No way. I just have to worry about France."

Britain couldn't help himself – he put his arms around Prussias shoulders and hugged him.

"You just worry about France." He agreed.

"Hey, let's go out anyway!" Prussia suggested "It's a shame to waste all my planning!"

There was a heavy knocking on the door. All at once Hungary, Belgium and Seychelles tumbled into the room, freezing when they saw the scene in front of them. Seychelles immediately paled, Hungary smirked triumphantly, and Belgium fumed.

"No!"

"Yes!"

"What the hell?!"

"Get out!" Britain yelled at them all.

Hungary grabbed the other women and tried to pull them out the room, but they weren't going without a fight.

"No, wait, this is fixable!" Belgium insisted.

"France is the country of love!" Seychelles announced "I'm sure he'll forgive you!"

"Forgive me for what?" Britain dared ask.

"Oh no, don't let us interrupt you!" Hungary bid as she struggled with the other two "You just carry on with what you're doing!"

Prussia started laughing, lowering his head to hide his tears from the ladies.

"You three are insufferable!" Britain scolded, hoping to insult them into leaving.

"I quite agree!" a deep, growling voice boomed behind them, causing all three to flinch.

Good old Germany! Clad in his bedclothes, hair amess, pythons crossed over his barrel chest, the women were clearly stuck between being aroused and afraid of the irate German.

"You." He growled "Out."

The three fled the way they had come.

"I think I'm changing teams!" they heard Seychelles squeal.

"Like a little girl like you would know what to do with him!" Belgium quipped.

"Now, ladies, let's not lose sight of the issue at hand!" Hungary insisted as Italy closed the door behind them with a 've~'.

Still indignant, Germany turned his steely gaze to Britain and Prussia.

"You two." He growled again "Here. Now."

A shiver ran down both their spines – an angry Germany was a scary Germany. They hobbled off the bed, Britain in particular feeling self-aware that he was clad only in his boxers, and shuffled into the main room of the suite like two naughty children about to be told off by their father. In true delinquent style, neither looked at Germany as he scowled at them.

"What happened last night?" he asked, although not answering was out of the question.

"Nothing." They mumbled in unison.

"Don't you tell me lies!" Germany boomed, causing everyone else in the room to flinch.

"I swear, nothing happened!" Britain insisted, waving his hands like it would prove his innocence.

"It's true, West!" Prussia agreed "You think I would take advantage of a drunk person? That's completely un-awesome!"

They got lectured. Sat on the couch, they bowed their heads and kept their hands still as Germany vented at them. Italy pottered about the suite, pulling on random items of clothing and making coffee for everyone. Britain wasn't sure how long they had been lectured for, but between Germanys baritone and his scotch hangover, his ears were completely numb by the end.

* * *

Britain sighed as he shuffled down the hallway, finally free of his scolding, headed back to his own room. He considered moving hotels, if only for the peace and quiet, but he would have to pay for it himself (rather than the government, who would pay for his hotel as long it was official business), and he didn't like the thought of that, especially as he didn't know how long this would go on for. He considered for a second going back to Frances house, but that was as good as declaring him the victor. And considering how angry he was with him right now, there was a very good chance that wasn't going to happen.

Where the Hell was France? Why hadn't he answered his messages? Why hadn't he shown in face since the end of the conference? What the hell was he playing at? Fuming was making his head hurt worse, so he sighed and resolved to stop. Ahead of him, a commotion in the hallway was gathering a crowd. He stopped, stomach immediately lurching as he saw what the ruckus was about – America had Russia pinned the wall, fistfuls of his shirt in his hands, completely furious. Spying Britain among the crowd, Russia smiled and pointed him out.

"See?" he bid "I told you I didn't have him."

The whole crowd turned to him, making him extremely aware that he was wearing yesterdays clothes.

"Um, good morning." He greeted awkwardly.

"Dude!" America immediately turned his anger toward him "Where the hell have you been?!"

"He spend the night with Prussia." Poland announced to the crowd "Hungary just told me. She totally caught them in the act!"

"I did not 'spend the night' with Prussia!" he protested.

"Oh my god, you totally did!" Poland argued "You were in his room in your underwear, what else would you call that?"

"I…! I was drunk." Britain huffed "Prussia was just being a good friend!"

"Yeah, just like me and Lithuania are just good friends." Poland smirked "I totally believe you!"

Another fight erupted. Britain sighed miserably – this was not helping his sore head. Suddenly, he was hitched up by America, who grabbed him around the waist and started marching off. He was forced to stop when Russia grabbed Britains hand – he wasn't a ragdoll, afteral.

The crowd went silent. America grimaced, Britain held his breath. With a smile, Russia raised Britains hand to his mouth, kissed it gently, and released it, stepping away from the crowd and walking down the hall.

Well… shit.

* * *

America marched down the hotel corridor like a man on a mission, Britain flung over his shoulder. The pressure of his shoulder on his stomach was making him woozy, so he did his best to push himself up on the younger mans broad back.

"I say, fell free to put me down any time!" he complained.

"That ain't gonna happen!" America barked back.

"Say what?"

"You clearly can't be trusted to stay out of trouble!" America yelled "If you're going to behave like a child, I'm going to treat you like one!"

"Say what, you brat?!"

America kicked open the door of his room, throwing England onto the bed before slamming and locking the door behind him. The boy was incensed, on the verge of tears.

"Why are you treating this like a joke?!" he cried "Don't you understand what's going on?! You're supposed to be smart!"

"America…"

"I don't want to hear it! Why? Why?! Why am I never enough?!"

"What?"

America threw off his jacket, lobbing it to the far side of the room in exasperation, running his hands manically through his hair as he paced back and forth.

"I don't understand?!" he muttered desperately to himself "What am I lacking?! Why aren't I enough?!"

"America, calm down!" England insisted, shuffling to get off the bed, but this only seemed to annoy him more.

With the growl of a confused beast, he grabbed Britains shoulders, throwing him back to the centre of the bed and onto his back, looming over him like a bear over its prey.

"Please tell me." He whimpered "Why aren't I enough? What do I lack?"

"America, what are you talking about?" Britain asked seriously, half scolding.

"I worked so hard to be strong. Why can't you see me?"

"I'm looking at you right now!" Britain assured.

"No, you're not!" America roared, hurt and confusion pouring out in his every word "You're looking at your little brother, you former colony, not me! You've never seen me!" he sobbed "All these countries fighting for your attention… you act like it's something new! I've always been fighting for it!"

"America-"

"Even now, you're running off with other people! All you had to do last night was stay put and let me protect you, and you couldn't even do that! You couldn't wait to get away from me! What do I have to do?!"

Englands heart was pounding – he had never seen America this irate. He was so heavy, Britain couldn't shift him off, and in his current state, he doubted it would be a good idea to get physical with him.

"America, calm down." He said again.

"I love you!" he roared "I love you! Why can't you see that?!"

"America… it's a different _kind_ of lo-"

"No, it's not!" he insisted "But you refuse to see it! I love you! I want to be with you! I want to wake up together and go to sleep together and live together and have sex and eat together and see each other everyday! I want to see those parts of you that you never showed me as a kid! I've always seen you as a man!" he panted as his breath ran out, finally seeming to calm as he looked Britain in the eye "Why can't you do the same for me?"

Britain was speechless. This couldn't be happening, not America, not now. His brain tried desperately to comprehend the situation, but it finally admitted to being overwhelmed. He wanted out. He needed air.

"America, get off." He ordered.

"No!"

"I'm not playing. Get off."

"Neither am I!"

Britain put his hands on Americas chest to push him off, but America grabbed his wrists, pushing his hands down, pinned to the bed. He kissed Britain full on the lips – he was clumsy and inexperienced, it was clear he had no idea what he was doing, but he was passionate and truly trying his best. Britain had enough. He didn't want to do this…

He raised his arms. America stopped kissing him, shocked at his strength as he was overpowered. With a sudden shove, he pushed America off him. Just doing that made his arms ache terribly – it had been a while since he had had to be forceful, and America wasn't exactly weak.

"I can't deal with this right now!" he declared, half of him not even caring about Americas feelings as everything overwhelmed him "This is too much!"

"England…"

"'I love you, I want you, I like you', all at once! I never asked for all this! I was happy just being with France! That bastard! Why did all this happen? I don't want all this!"

"Hey-"

"Everyone is just doing what they want! What about what I want?! Did anyone ever think about that?! No! It's all about what they want, what they feel! I can't stand it! I didn't want this! Now everything's falling apart, and I'm expected to fix it but I can't, because no matter what I do, someone I care about is going to be hurt, and things will never go back to the way they were!"

His mouth ran dry. He was shaking slightly, panting after his outburst. America looked at him in shock.

"No matter what I do I'm wrong." He finished quietly.

He got off the bed and headed for the door. Gently, America grabbed his hand and pulled him back, down into his lap, and wrapped his arms around him.

"I'm sorry." He cooed "I'm sorry. Don't be mad. It'll be okay…"

Britain couldn't cope. He leant into Americas soft frame, letting himself be comforted, just this once.

* * *

Britain finally snaps... he lasted longer than I would have! Next chapter is the return of France...


	12. Chapter 12 I'm Not Giving Up!

My headcanon is funny - it messes with the height and build of the characters, rather than their personalities. I imagine Russia to be this muscled and pudgy giant, while America and Canada are more like Russia is in canon, and England is just above Japans size, rather than being the same size as France. This has nothing to do with this chapter. I just felt like mentioning it.

* * *

**Not Giving Up.**

"Well?" Russia asked, "What do you think?"

"It's too big for me." China pouted.

"Aw, that's a shame. Red is really your colour."

China examined his reflection. He couldn't deny he looked good in red, even if the detailing on the centuries-old coat was somewhat over-the-top. It was only just to big for him, hanging baggy on the shoulders and arms and almost swallowing him whole around the torso. He did a spin, and the long, heavy fabric dragged in the air dramatically. He gave it a sniff – it still smelled like Britain. He blushed, remembering when he had seen said Britain actually wearing it, how dashing and powerful he seemed. Cheeks still aflame, he turned back to his friend.

"Where on earth did you find this?" he marvelled.

"I found it in the trash." Russia admitted, "I was pretty surprised, even Latvia doesn't wear things like that anymore."

"It's a true antique." China admitted.

"I wonder who was keeping it all this time." Russia mused "They took very good care of it."

"Probably one of the idiot trio." China supposed "That infant America has no sense of sentimentality."

He kept fingering the coat – the years had softened the sturdy fabric, a few of the embellishments had fallen off and been sowed back on by an inexpert hand, and the occasional stain and small rip betrayed its age.

"I wonder why that one wasn't sown up." Russia pondered, fingering one of the cleaner little tears.

"Looks like rapier damage." China said, blushing again and smiling at the thought "Britain had a sword fight while wearing this coat. I wonder what he was doing?"

China unconsciously chewed on his lower lip as he thought about waiting for Britain to come back while wearing nothing but this coat. It would be a lie to say Russia wasn't thinking something similar.

"You think we should tell Britain we have this?" China asked.

"Why ruin our fun?" Russia answered.

"Well, it might entice him to come and see us again."

"Hm, I don't think that's a good idea." Russia confessed "When I saw him earlier he looked like he was having a bad day."

"Well, that's what happens when you associate with fools – just being in the same room as the idiot trio ruins my day."

"That's not very nice." Russia scolded gently.

"I'm over 4000 years old!" China pointed out "I am so over 'nice', I don't even remember the last time it bothered me."

"You're nice to me."

"No, I'm not." China corrected "I'm myself with you. You just think I'm nice because you have so few friends."

"You're right." Russia agreed "You're not nice."

The two laughed. Without shame, China sat himself on Russia lap.

"We need to plan our next step!" he declared "Britain will be ours in no time if we target his weaknesses!"

"Most of them have become independent." Russia pointed out.

"The trade he has with us both is extremely valuable." China plotted "I'm sure we can find a way to turn that to our favour!"

* * *

He wished it would rain. Rain would be perfect. But it didn't. That fucking blue sky stretched on and on, cloudless and serene for miles around. It didn't feel right. He wanted his rain.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Britain was alone. He had managed to leave the hotel with surprisingly little fanfare – it seemed he wasn't the only one getting sick of events, many of the gathered nations having scarpered for the day. There was a light breeze as he walked along beside the river, jacket draped over his arm. The trendy shops and cafes seemed to continue forever – he missed his countryside and greasy spoons. He missed the mooing of his cows and the friendly locals outside his country pubs. He missed his home.

His heart was heavy, his head buzzing with everything and nothing all at once. This should be simple. Why wasn't it simple? He always believed that everything could be solved if you just thought it through, that there would only be 'problems' when you had to deal with irrational people. The other nations weren't irrational, so why wasn't this simple? No matter how he thought about it, the answer never came to him, lost in 'yeah but's and 'although's and 'except for's. The only conclusion was that he was the irrational one, and if that was the case, it was his own fault he was egging this out.

Bullshit. He sighed. Complete bullshit. If love were something simple, poets and playwrights would have grown tired of it long ago. Instead, it kept finding new and devastating ways of turning peoples lives into messes. He couldn't think this one through… but what else was there?

He wanted to talk to France. More than anything, he wanted to talk to France. He wanted to ask him why – why did you turn your back on your friends? Why did you open this can of worms, when you knew what would happen? Why now? Why not talk to your friends first, if you really felt you couldn't hold on? Why haven't you returned my calls?

Why did China only start acting up when Prussia and Spain got involved? Why is America acting this way, when Canada and his other former colonies were acting the same as ever? Why is Russia involved? Why did this have to happen? Why did they all like him? Why did he have to stay here and deal with this? Why couldn't he go home?

He sighed heavily, sitting down on the cobbles beside the waterbank, head heavy with 'why's. Every answer he could think of bought him back to France – this mess started because of him. Britain was happy living in ignorance, keeping his relationships the way he liked them – his good friends, his colleagues, his family… Had France known? Of course he knew about Spain and Prussia, he had just chosen to betray them, his oldest friends, for… for what? For him? For 'l'amore'? It made him laugh bitterly. France always treated love like a commodity, something to be used and thrown away when you were done with it – that was the reason Britain had never allowed himself to love him before. Britain knew that when he loved, it was everything, all encompassing and devastating, and it would break his heart irreparably to be used that way, so he never took the chance.

Why had he taken it now? What had France done differently this time that made him finally give in? Was it because he had been serious, not flirting or joking or inappropriate, but looked him in the eye and told him straight? Was that his new trick? What an extent to go to, he thought bitterly, for a commodity. To destroy centuries old friendships for something you intended to throw away. It hurt his heart – why hadn't he listened to that voice in his head? If he had just turned France down, this whole mess could have been avoided.

"'ALLO, SPACE CADET!"

Britain flinched as he realised he was the one being called. He had been so lost in thought that everything else had melted away. He looked around to see who had called him.

"'Ave you suddenly become deaf, _mon petit lapin_?" France teased, arms crossed over his chest as he leant down to his level.

Britains brain froze. His heart stopped. Only one thing came to mind.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

Grabbing the sleeves of the jumper France had tied over his shoulders, Britain leapt up and punched him in the face. To say he was surprised would be an understatement. Luckily (?) for him, he wasn't unfamiliar with the Brits fighting style, and as he used the sleeves to pull him back for the second blow, he pushed aside his fist, and with nothing to stop him, crashed into the other man, sending them both flying backwards into the river.

* * *

"I have nothing to apologise for!"

"Well, here in France, when we punch our lover in the face, we tend to apologise!"

"Well in England, we don't stab our best friends in the back by breaking promises and causing chaos across the entire EU because we couldn't keep in it our pants!"

France was taken aback.

"_Lapin_, that is oddly specific." He joked.

Britain growled at him as he ruffled the towel through his hair, muttering swears under his breath. Luckily, Frances house wasn't too far away from the river Britain had wandered to, and the two had trudged back, sopping wet, in silence. Freshly showered, Britain prepared himself for battle. He threw his towel at France.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" he yelled at him "Why didn't you tell me about this? What the devil were you playing at?"

"I was thinking that I love you!" was his immediate reply, as if he had rehearsed this argument already "I was thinking that for the first time, I 'ad something that was worth risking everything for! I was think that as long as you and I were together, nothing else would matter! I am sorry about Spain and Prussia, I truly am, I never meant to 'urt them, but why should I be forever miserable so that they can be 'appy?"

"So as usual, you were only thinking about yourself!"

"I was thinking about us!"

"How can I believe you?!" Britain yelled, exasperated "If you can turn your back on Spain and Prussia so easily, how can I believe anything you say? How long before you turn your back on me as well, run off with some pretty girl? How can I believe anything you say is true?!"

"Because you came first!" France insisted, walking forward and taking his hands, looking desperately into his eyes "You're talking about Spain and Prussia like we 'ave always been together, but you came first, Britain! You 'ave always been the most important!"

"Don't give me that!" he countered as he tried to pull away.

"It's true!" France refused to let him go "Behind all our fighting and squabbling, there was always love! It may not 'ave been the same as the love we 'ave now, but it was always there!"

"Shut up! I don't want to hear it!"

Britains voice was betraying him, shaking with emotion when he wanted to sound mad and serious and in-charge. He couldn't look at France, screwing his eyes shut and turning his head away as his heart made mockery of his head. With a gentle hand, France pushed the locks of hair behind Britains ears before turning his face back to him.

"Britain." He cooed, barely above a whisper "I love you. I'm not saying that just because I can – this isn't some fling to me."

"Stop it!"

"_Non_. As long as we are alive, I shall never stop."

France kissed him gently. Britain didn't try to stop him – he wanted to be comforted. He wanted to leave all the shit and chaos behind. He wanted to choose France, despite the nagging voice in his head. France deepened the kiss, slipping in his tongue, and wrapped his arms around him, drawing him against himself. His body was warm, his arms comforting. With a gentle push, France had Britain on the bed, leaning over him.

"I love you, Britain." He purred again "If my words cannot reach you, I shall let my body convey the strength of my emotions."

* * *

The phone wouldn't stop. Britain tried to ignore it, but it carried on and on and on. Japan called him. Canada called him. America called him. Spain called him. Prussia called him. Enough already! He was tired, and enjoying the quiet and the softness of Frances elegant bed. Why did they keep calling? Why couldn't they let him be? Now China was calling him. What was going on? He looked at his phone, seeing that every single one of them had left a message. With a groan, he accessed his answerphone. Immediately, his heart stopped.

"Britain?!" Japans voice screamed at him, desperate and panicked, with a roar behind it that he couldn't place "Where are you?! Please! Please, answer your phone!"

The line went dead.

"Britain?! Britain, can you hear me?!" Canadas voice begged "Where are you! Please, get to-"

Dead again. What was that noise? Americas message was just coughing, that noise again, and the calling of his name over and over again. That was enough. Quick as a flash, he pulled on his clothes and ran from the house, grabbing the keys to Frances car.

* * *

The hotel was on fire. The smoke could be seen from miles around, an orange glow filling the air, like the devil himself was trying to break through the earth and claim the building. The heat was unbelievable, so hot and dry that Britain could barely stand it. He stopped the car suddenly as he saw his fellow nations, huddled and staring at the inferno from across the street. He jumped out, not caring that his car blocked the view of the cameras and rubber-neckers that had gathered, and ran to them.

"Britain!" Japan yelped in sheer relief, throwing his arms around him as he came close enough "Britain! Thank god you're alright!"

He was assailed by several other nations, throwing their arms around him and calling his name and crying.

"What happened?!" Britain asked Japan, who had yet to let him go "How did this start?"

"The doors…" he answered, voice and body shaking in shock and relief "The doors were all locked. Russia… he had to break them down. The doors were locked!"

Britain threw his arms around Japan as he started to freak out.

"America wouldn't leave until he found you!" he went on "Russia had to go back in and get him!"

"Japan-"

Behind Japan, China appeared, placing Russias coat over his shaking brother.

"It's okay." He soothed, wrapping his arms around him "It's okay. Everyone's alright."

Japan couldn't stop shaking. In the crowd, Britain spotted Russia, leant over a singed and coughing America, rubbing his back, both dishevelled and covered in soot and plaster. Spain and Prussia carried Romano between them, whose bleeding leg was bound in a crude splint. Germany held Italy close and he, like Japan, couldn't stop shaking as he stared at the fire. Seychelles and Hungary dove around the crowd, taking names and handing out blankets while Belgium bandaged up the burnt and wounded. What was this?

Britain looked at what was once his hotel, now no more than a spire of hell itself reaching for heaven. What the hell had happened?

* * *

Just when things seemed to be sorted, the plot thickens! What started the fire?! Why were the door locked?! Where's the smut!? Ok, maybe not the last one... the plot thickens next chapter!


	13. Chapter 13 I'd Forsake the World for You

For those who were expecting a chapter yesterday - sorry, I was tired. Anyway, please enjoy a new (somewhat filler) chapter!

* * *

**I'd Forsake the World for You.**

Things had calmed down by the next morning. The fire was out, but for a few acrid billowing plumes. The charred beams and supports of the hotel stuck out of the ground like blackened bones on a vast ruined skeleton. After the heat of the inferno, the morning air was almost arctic, causing the temporarily homeless nations to shiver and huddle together. No one had slept, not really, maybe rested their head for a few minutes, but certainly not rested. The governments had acted quickly to find their nations new accommodation, spreading them almost to the winds in the fair city of Paris.

America coughed again, shoulders heaving. Britain rubbed is back, making sure the oxygen mask was secure on his brothers face. Sat on his other side on Frances stylish sofa, Canada kept Americas hand in his, keeping his excitable brother still so the smoke could be purged from his lungs without too much damage. The assorted nations stared at the television almost silently as the news covered the hotel fire – even at this early stage, they could tell it was definitely arson. The facts that the doors had all been locked suggested that not only had the arsonist not cared if he hurt someone, but was actively trying to kill people.

The news praised a large, anonymous Russian guest for using the sheer broadness of his shoulders to force the doors open. They talked of an American went back in to find his brother, an Austrian musician who injured his hands badly saving his trapped wife, a Chinese man would wouldn't leave the lobby until he knew everyone else had gotten out… It felt Britain speechless. Despite its horror, he wished he had been there, to see his friends and fellow nations at their finest. He was proud and terrified all at once.

The news turned to conjecture – who would do this, and why? It was known that the hotel was full of delegates from the UN, so naturally conspiracy theories of terrorism were flying. Russia grimaced at the television, doing his best to ignore China applying gauze and medicine to the burns and wounds on his back. Belarus sat at his feet adoringly, Ukraine helping Italy and France put together some kind of breakfast for everyone in the kitchen. Japan sat next to Germany on the other couch, calmer than before, but clearly still shaken.

"Is it possible it's terrorism?" Japan wondered aloud.

"It's not impossible." Germany admitted "But no-one's taking responsibility."

"It's a miracle no-one died." Canada supposed.

"But a lot of people were badly injured." Britain reminded him "Many of the hotel workers have been hospitalised. Then there's Switzerland…"

An awkward hush fell.

"Switzerland will be fine." Russia said certainly "He's strong and capable."

Belarus started to shake – it was because he was saving her that Switzerland had been so badly injured. She had fallen, and he had gone back for her, being struck by a falling beam as he carried her out. Feeling her shiver, Russia stroked her hair calmly.

"Austrias hands…" Canada muttered "You think he'll be able to play piano again?"

"It may take a while." Germany supposed "But his hands will heal."

America coughed again. Britain shushed him, telling him not to try talking yet and just concentrate on breathing. Italy came back into the room, mobile in his hand.

"That was Spain." He informed the room, voice full of relief "Fratello twisted his ankle pretty badly, but he'll be okay. Spain and Prussia are being treated for smoke inhalation, but they should all be let out by this afternoon."

"That's wonderful, Italy." Germany agreed "We should go pick them up when they're ready to go."

France and Ukraine reappeared, carrying trays and plates that they dispersed amongst the group. Britain allowed America to remove his mask long enough to shovel some food in his mouth, but despite their hosts efforts and their undeniable hunger, few of the others could stomach more than picking at their plates. Host duties successfully completed, France slipped himself down on the couch next to Britain, putting his arm around his shoulders.

"This is truly shocking." He admitted as he joined them in watching the news "I am especially ashamed that it 'as 'appened in my country, of all places."

America started coughing again, whole body shaking.

"France, can we use your spare room?" Britain asked.

"Of course." He answered.

Britain stood and went to pick America up from his spot, but he jumped a little as Russia beat him to it.

"Lean on me, America." He bid, putting his arm over his shoulder "Britain, where is this spare room?"

"Ah!" Canada went to interrupt.

"You stay." Russia told him "You shoulder is injured, yes? I can take Americas weight far easier."

Canada looked concerned, but Russia was right – his shoulder was bandaged where he had held the ruined door open under the weight of the building. Britain grabbed the oxygen tank America was hooked up to and showed them down the hall to the ground floor guest room. Russia put America down on the bed, surprisingly gently considering their relationship, and even tucked the blankets up to his shoulders.

"You get some sleep." Britain ordered, making sure the mask was on properly as America faded from consciousness "You'll feel a whole lot better when you wake up."

As America fell asleep, Britain took off his glasses, folding them up and placing them on the table beside the bed.

"He'll be fine." Russia assured him quietly, as not to wake America "Strong countries heal very quickly."

"I know." Britain agreed, but it was still comforting to hear it.

Britain left the door open a crack, turning to Russia before they returned to the others.

"Russia," he called, quiet enough that only the intended could hear him "I just wanted to say… thank you."

"Oh?"

"Japan told me that you went back in to save America." Britain revealed "He'd be in a far worse state if not for you – especially considering you don't have the best of relationships."

"Switzerland went back for Belarus." Russia pointed out "I'm not even sure if they've spoken before. I would hate to think someone left my precious little sister to die just because they didn't like her."

"Even so… you were very brave." He complimented.

"It's not brave. I just did what needed to be done."

Despite his infuriating humility, he smiled at Britain.

"But I will remember you said that." He promised "And I'll use it to my advantage later."

Britain couldn't help laughing through his nose.

"Russia, your president is on the phone!" France called from down the hall "Britain, would be so kind as to make everyone a cup of tea, cheri?"

"I would prefer vodka." Russia muttered as he went to answer the phone.

Britain laughed again and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Before long, China appeared.

"I thought I would help you with the tea." He offered.

"That's very kind of you."

China smiled weakly. He grabbed the plastic tea tray from the cubbyhole and put it down of the side, opening the cupboard to fetch the mugs. Britain nearly leapt out his skin when a sudden loud clatter reverberated through the kitchen, spinning back around to face China – he had dropped the mugs, luckily not far enough to break them, but they had made one hell of a noise. China stood, rooted to the spot, staring at his clearly shaking hands. Figuring it was a delayed reaction from the stress of the fire, Britain laid a reassuring hand on Chinas shoulder, and was about to tell him not to worry about the tea, but the Asian dove into his arms before he could speak, wrapping his arms around him like a vice.

"I'm sorry." He said right away, almost a whisper "Just for a while."

Britain wanted to complain, but under the circumstances, he decided to let it go. He put on reassuring hand on Chinas back, the other stroking his loose hair like a child.

"Come on, old boy, it's alright." He soothed "No one died, you know."

"I know." China muttered "I know, but still…"

He gripped Britain tighter.

"I've lived for over 4000 years. I've seen the rise and fall of all the greatest empires on earth. I've outlived every other nation in all human history." He pointed out "But it never gets easier, seeing them die. They all grow weaker and disappear while I remain strong… I thought… I thought I'd have to see everyone I care for die all at once. My little brothers and sisters, my friends."

"Hey now," Britain tried to calm him as he felt his shirt start to become damp "Everyone's alright."

"When I saw America and Russia run back into the building… I thought for sure… I might never see them again. Britain, if you're lucky, you'll have no idea what happens to a nation when its body is that badly damaged. I've seen it… far too many times. I would never wish that on anyone."

"It's alright." Britain echoed uselessly "Everyone got out of the building. Even Switzerland will be back on his feet before you know it. I know it must have been terribly upsetting for you-"

"Where were you?" China interrupted.

"Pardon?"

China released his grip just enough to be able to look him in the eye.

"Where were you?" he asked again "You weren't at the hotel."

"Oh, I was here." He confessed "I wanted to talk to France."

China pulled a confused face.

"Well, I'm glad you were safe." He said "Too bad you wasted your time coming all the way here, though."

"Britain!" France appeared at the door "'Ow's…"

He stopped as he spotted China in Britains arms, his genuinely happy expression fading and being replaced by a hosts smile.

"'Ow is the tea coming?" he finished, voice clearly annoyed.

"Nearly done." Britain promised, taking his hands off China.

He went to move away and go back to making tea, but China tightened his grip. He openly glared at France, who didn't look best pleased in return. Britain started to panic as the tension in the room exploded.

"Hey, now!" he nearly yelled "China, it doesn't befit a gentleman to walk around in his undershirt! I've got a few clothes here, and you and I are almost the same size, why don't you see if there's something of mine that will fit you?"

"You keep clothes here?" China asked, not taking his eyes off France.

"Of course." France answered for him "We are lovers. It is a perfectly natural thing for lovers to do."

China grimaced.

"I'm surprised there's room for any of Britains clothes among all your absurd garments." He spat.

As nice as it was to have the argumentative China back, a fight right now would be far from a good idea. Britain reached to his back, prized Chinas hand off him and gently pushed him away.

"Upstairs, second door on the right." He instructed "You'll know which ones are mine because-"

"I'll know." China promised, looking unhappy that he was being got rid of.

With a final glare at France, China stalked out of the room. France came in and shut the door behind him.

"What did 'e want?" he asked immediately.

"He was just a little upset, that's all." Britain confessed, finally going back to take the kettle off the hob "He just wanted a little comforting."

"And you 'ad to be the one to do it?" he asked accusingly "'E 'as Russia for that, does 'e not?"

"Russia was on the phone." Britain pointed out.

"Oh, 'ow convenient."

"What exactly are you trying to say?" Britain barked.

Before an argument could start, he put the kettle down and turned a hard eye to France, who managed to look sorry and mad at the same time. Frances blue eyes flicked about the room.

"I'm just saying," he said apologetically "China is very devious. You should be careful around him."

Britain hadn't told France about his little 3-way with China and Russia the other day – before he hadn't had time, and right now it was hardly appropriate. Truth be told, he wasn't sure if he _should_ tell France – if he was getting jealous over a hug, telling him might his brain explode entirely. With a sudden undignified clack, the kitchen door swung open to reveal Germany pulling on his coat.

"I'm going to pick up Prussia and the other two." He announced "You're coming with me."

"What for?" France protested.

"Not you." Germany clarified "Britain. We have things to discuss."

"As I said, what for?" France repeated.

"If you must know, over the past few days the DOW has gone down 5 points, the Euro is up against the dollar, which is down against the pound, which-"

"Ugh, take 'im, I don't care." France grimaced.

A little annoyed that he wasn't getting his tea, Britain duly followed Germany down the hall, pulling on his shoes. Italy caught them as they were headed out.

"I called a taxi." He informed them "I'll get everything ready at the hotel for everyone, okay?"

"_Ja,_ good work, Italy, we're relying on you."

Italy saluted happily as they left. Since Germany and France were neighbours, he had driven to the conference, and the two of them clamoured into the front of his sensible Volkswagen.

"Has the DOW really dropped five points?" Britain asked in disbelief.

"No." Germany admitted as he started the car "I just wanted to get you away from France so we could talk seriously."

"Ah."

Germany drove off, keeping to the speed limit as always. They were five minutes from Frances house before he finally spoke.

"Where were you last night?" he asked.

"I was at Frances place." Britain repeated "I wanted to talk to him, to see if we couldn't get this mess sorted out."

"How long were you there?" he went on "Did anyone else see you?"

"Hang on – you aren't seriously going to suggest that _I_ started that fire?!"

"Of course not." Germany assured as he changed gear "But I don't think it's a coincidence that it started while you were away, either."

"You're not serious…."

"I've been thinking about it all night." He confessed "All I can say for certain is that myself, Italy and Prussia didn't start it. Considering his actions, it's highly unlikely that America started it. With Italy still in the building and you not, there's no reason to suspect Romano."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this." Britain marvelled "You think someone we know started that fire? For what reason? What's going on right now isn't nearly that serious! You think someone would want me enough to kill every other nation on earth? That's ludicrous!"

"The doors were locked." Germany reminded him "Not just the front doors, but all the fire escapes and staff exits too. The entire hotel was booked up for our conference, so there were only nations staying there. You know tensions were high." He sighed "My premier called – first the mess with my brother and his friends, now this… she says if the arsonist isn't caught within a week, this is going to be upgraded to an international incident."

"Shit."

"Exactly. Please, think, Britain, who knew you had left the hotel? Did anyone see you on the way out?"

Britain thought a moment.

"Belgium saw me." He remembered "But she'd never do something like this. Canada saw me leave, and I remember Japan was with him… I saw Poland and Lithuania, but I just can't suspect either of them… I think I saw Austria and Hungary headed out for the day… truth be told, Germany, I wasn't paying that much attention – I just wanted to get out. It's possible someone saw me and I didn't notice them." He shuddered "I don't want to believe this is about me, you know."

"I understand." Germany swore, still not taking his eyes off the road "But I can't think of any other reason behind this."

"No." Britain confessed miserably "Me neither…"

"I have to work with what I know for certain." Germany said "So until further notice, I suggest you stay with us. Italy found a small hotel – it only had 5 rooms, just enough for my family and you."

"Thank you, Germany, but that's not necessary."

"It's entirely necessary." He argued "We'll make it very well known where you are – with my family around, no-one will be able to get close enough to hurt you."

Britain couldn't argue with that.

"And if the hotel is attacked while you're away again, we'll know for certain that we're dealing with one of the other nations that have made their intentions known."

"This is just sick – I can't think of any nation that unstable. Even Belarus wouldn't torch a building while her brother and sister were still inside."

"I want to be wrong." Germany admitted "I want to believe that it was some random arsonist, but the numbers don't add up."

Britain sighed miserably, unconsciously hugging himself.

"For what it's worth." He said "I don't think China started it. He seemed too upset. For that matter, Japan as well."

"_Ja_, I agree. That helps narrow the list."

But not nearly by enough, Britain thought, as nearly 200 nations remained on the suspect list…

* * *

Who started the fire?! I know, of course, but I'm certainly curious to hear your suspicions!


	14. Chapter 14 It Doesn't Matter Anymore

Ugh, finally! So tired...

* * *

**It Doesn't Matter Anymore.**

Prussia threw himself at Britain almost immediately, throwing his arms around him like he hadn't seen him in years before suddenly pulling away, ashen faced.

"Ah, sorry." He apologised, stealing a quick glance at Spain behind him "Just, y'know… happy to see you."

"No bother, old chap." Britain assured, although the sudden contact had bothered him some "I'm glad you're alright as well."

"There's some more paperwork to fill out before we can go." Germany pointed out with an aggravated sigh "It should take about half an hour."

Prussia groaned theatrically, but the stress on his lungs made him start coughing.

"Ja, don't do that again." His brother ordered.

Romano grimaced at Britain.

"Ugh." He muttered "I don't want to ride in a car with that bastard."

"Stop being so childish, Romano." Spain chastised, giving Britain an apologetic look.

Britain smiled at Romano.

"Now your leg matches your face." He teased "If you carry on like this, pretty soon you're going to be one big bruise. Scone?"

He held up the bag he was carrying and Romano noticeably flinched. Britain couldn't help but snicker, albeit internally.

"I'm going to pay some visits." He informed Germany "Shant be long."

"Leave the scones." He ordered.

* * *

Britain hated hospitals – being a nation, the only time he set foot in one was when something very serious indeed had happened, so he had no good memories of them. The last time he had needed one was World War 2 and, well, the less said about that, the better. The sterile plastic and rubber halls made his skin crawl, the smell of disinfectant and god-knows-what clinging to the air while miserable and blood-covered people stalked the halls. He didn't hang about.

Switzerlands room was a little hard to find – what was it he was calling himself these days? Vash something-or-other? Luckily (and thankfully) the burns ward wasn't too big, and Britain soon found Lichtenstein sat in the chair at her brothers bedside. Switzerland was almost completely covered in gauze, most stained yellow from what he hoped was medicine, and a strange, almost acrid smell hung in the air. The room was silent but for the steady, reassuring beat of the heart monitor. Not wanting to be too obtrusive, he gave a light rap on the door with his knuckles.

"Hello, Lichtenstein." He greeted.

The girl jumped. Spinning around ferociously, she glared daggers at Britain.

"Get out!" he yelled.

"What's that?"

It was shocking, so say the least – Britain didn't think he had ever heard her raise her voice before!

"This is all your fault!" she screeched accusingly "Switzy was hurt because of you!"

"Hey, now-"

"You couldn't just make up your mind! You had to drag it all out! Now everyone's hurt and it's all your fault!"

"That's hardly fair!" he tried to defend.

"Get out!" she yelled again, pushing him to the door with all her strength "Get out! I never want to see you again! GET OUT!"

She slammed the door in his face. He stared at it a moment, flabbergasted. He took a deep breath – of course she was upset, the most important person in the world to her to seriously injured. He would have to come back to pay his respects to then when she had calmed down.

A horrible thought sprung to mind – that it was his fault – but he pushed it down as best he could. He didn't start the fire. He couldn't be held responsible… could he? He ducked his head into each room a nation inhabited as he passed – no one seemed overly happy to see him, their attitudes ranging from stand-offish to downright hostile, but no one exploded at him like Lichtenstein had. After checking on Austria – who was getting more and more impatient with the 'service' at the hospital – Hungary took him to one side.

"How are you?" she asked him, voice full of concern.

"Shouldn't I be the one to ask you that?" he countered "I'm not the one who was stuck in that horrible mess."

"Yes." She admitted "But I think the mess you're stuck in is far worse."

She sighed miserably, hugging herself. Britain waited for her to recompose herself.

"It was fun before," she went on "Back when the only thing that could be hurt was feelings, but not… it's gone too far, Britain. We may heal soon enough, but the hotel workers could still die. It was fun because it was like war without the bloodshed, but now!"

She caught herself as he voice rose, clearing her throat and hooking her hair behind her ear.

"It doesn't even matter who you pick anymore," she said certainly "Just hurry up and do it so everyone can go home."

It hurt Britains heart to hear those words – mostly because she was right.

"It was never a case of 'picking.'" He admitted quietly, voice full of shame "I love France, that hasn't changed just because some other people like me. I was never going to go off with someone else, I just…"

He sighed miserably. This time, Hungary waited for him.

"I wanted to find a way to end this without everything falling apart – those three and their friendship, my relationships with Prussia and France… we've all worked so hard to build the UN into something to be proud of… I managed to sort everything out with Spain! If I had just had more time, I could have found a way to break it to Prussia without hurting his feelings! And then that bastard France wouldn't answer my calls and China and Russia got involved for god knows why and then America and why didn't that bastard answer my calls?! I can't handle this all on my own!"

With infinite patience, Hungary put her arms around him as he got more irate.

"I'm sorry, Britain." She soothed "But there's no 'happy ending' here. Everyone won't go home having learnt something and grown as a person and get on with their lives. No matter what you do, someone's going to be hurt, but if you do nothing it will only be worse."

She let him go, looking him in the eye seriously.

"You have no choice but to be the bad guy." She said sternly "I was rooting for Prussia, but if you don't love him then you have to tell him sooner rather than later."

"I don't want to hurt his feelings." He responded, words sounding bitterly pathetic to his own ears "He's my friend…"

"False hope will hurt him more." She guaranteed "You weren't there when the fire started – Prussia helped Spain with Romano without a second thought. Our relationships are strong, and hurt feelings don't last forever. It may take time for your friendship with Prussia to heal, but if he was ever truly your friend then you just need to be patient."

The sageness of her words was a bitter tonic for him to swallow.

"I never asked for this." He muttered "I just want things to go back to the way they were."

Hungary hugged him again, rubbing his back like he were an upset child, before going back into the room to be with Austria.

Once they arrived at their new hotel, Britain locked himself in his room with a pen and a pad of paper and refused to come out until he knew exactly what to say to who.

* * *

"Did I not say 'e would be much better?" France assured Canada "This time tomorrow, 'e will be back on 'is feet like nothing 'appened, you watch!"

Despite his words, Canada remained concerned – America was almost never sick or injured, so any time he was was of course troubling. His own shoulder was already healed to the extent that he didn't need bandages, but since Americas injuries were internal, it was hard to see how long it would take him to get better.

After Britain and Germany left, China organised a new hotel for him and his siblings, moving out before anyone could even ask where they were staying, and to everyones surprise, it was Ukraine that made all the arrangements for her little brother and sister, leaving France, Canada and America the only ones in the house.

"I don't see why Britain couldn't 'ave stayed 'ere." France mentioned bitterly to Canada as he made lunch "Does 'e really trust that stick-in-the-mud with 'is safety more than 'e does me? I swear the Brawny Kraut is just trying to swing things in his brothers favour."

"I understand." Canada agreed as he sat at the kitchen table "I mean, there's no way you'd burn down your own house."

France stopped short. He turned to Canada.

"I don't like your tone." He said "You don't seriously think tha I burned down that 'otel, do you?"

"That's exactly what I think." Was the blunt reply.

"Canada!" France cried, incensed "I cannot believe I am 'earing such accusations from my own son!"

"It's because I'm your son that I understand how you think." He pointed out "A big part of me comes from you. When Romano went after Britain with a knife, I wanted to crush his head with my bare hands. When other people get close to the one I love, I get so jealous I can't see strait – if it looked like everyone were after him like Britain, I might just lose it."

"Canada, I will say this only once." France said sternly "I did not burn down that 'otel!"

"Then why were you there?!"

"Eh?"

"I saw you!" Canada announced, throwing aside his chair "You were at the hotel last night – I saw you before the fire started, and I saw you again when everyone was running away! You knew Britain was here, you had no reason to be at the hotel. If you didn't start the fire then why were you there?"

France looked shocked, angry and confused all at once. He was clearly hurt by the accusation. With a wretched sigh, he turned his back fully on his cooking, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I went to talk to Prussia and Spain." He admitted "I saw the wound on Britains chest, 'ow tired and upset 'e was, so I went to talk to them – I wanted to know what 'appened." He sighed, growing more aggravated "I could 'ave 'andled things better than I 'ad. I only thought about what I wanted. I should 'ave talked to them first. I'm sure if I 'ad, I could have made them understand my feelings."

"And if they hadn't?"

"Come now, if you are as much like me as you say then you already know. What chance did those dreamers have – a childish crush and an ex who couldn't let go of a fling – in the face of true love? If I know Britain, 'e will be trying to keep everyone 'appy – if I 'ave to, I will say the things 'e does not 'ave the 'eart to, even if they are my friends."

Canada looked France right in the eye, trying to read his expression. He was mad, for sure, but who wouldn't be after being accused of attempted world destruction? He wanted to believe France – he didn't want to think his Papa was capable of such a thing, but he knew what he himself was capable of when he was mad. Until he had further proof, he just couldn't believe him – gone to talk to Spain and Prussia? Why that night? Why not the nights before? It was too much of a coincidence.

Canada grabbed his coat from the back of the kitchen chair.

"Where are you going?" France asked.

"Out." Was his answer "With just you and America here, it would be too suspicious if something else happened to him. Even if it wasn't you, Britain would never forgive you if something happened to him."

France grimaced at Canadas back as he walked out the door.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to do this right now?" Germany asked.

"Absolutely." Britain assured "Now is the best time."

"Well, alright…" Germany agreed, but he didn't sound happy.

This time, Britain had thought ahead – he wasn't going to let China and Russia double team him like they had before. Italy had called Japan to ask where they were staying, and he confirmed that Russia wasn't staying in the same place. With no nonsense Germany waiting right outside the door with instructions to interrupt if he hadn't come out after 7 minutes, Britain was certain he wasn't going to be overwhelmed this time by the slippery Asian.

"Wouldn't it be easier to talk to Russia first?" Germany supposed.

"Russia is just the monkey." Britain pointed out somewhat cruelly as he looked over his flash cards "I need to talk to the organ grinder."

Britain took a deep breath, held it a moment, then let it out. He was as ready as he'd ever be. He gave the nod to Germany, who started to look at his watch. With extreme trepidation, Britain knocked on Chinas door.

"Hello, China?" he called "It's Britain. I need to talk to you."

"The door is open." Came the familiar voice from inside.

As Britain took the door handle in his hand, Germany pressed the timer on his watch. Inside, the room was dimly lit, curtains drawn, with just a few thin candles for light and some incense burning on the sideboard. It seemed the hotel owners were Chinese, and had furnished their hotel accordingly – stepping into the room was like stepping back in time to the opium wars, even down to the smell. As Britain closed the door, China stood from where he had been sat on the floor.

He was wearing a long crimson robe, tied at the waist, open just enough to reveal his bare chest. His hair was loose at his shoulders, bangs tied back away from his face, and Britain involuntarily felt his heart skip – he had always liked China with his hair down.

"Hello, Britain." He greeted sombrely "How are you this evening?"

"I'm alright." He confirmed "How about you? Feeling better?"

China looked upset, like he was about to cry, hooking some stray hair behind his ear.

"I was just saying a prayer." He confessed "So that our fellow nations will get well soon."

"That's thoroughly decent of you." Britain complimented.

China smiled at him.

"Speaking of decent, I owe you a debt of thanks." He went on "You were so kind to me earlier, Britain."

"I was just being a gentleman." He answered.

China shook his head, stepping towards Britain.

"You always think about what's best for others first." He complimented, brushing some of Britains hair from his face with his slender fingers "It's one of your best qualities."

With the grace and speed of a silken spider, China had his arms around Britains waist, looking up at him with seductive brown eyes.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're safe, but… I'm a little sad I didn't get to see you during the fire. I'm sure you would have been magnificent."

Chinas hands, like those of a sly fox, ran up Britains back so gently that he wasn't even sure he felt it, resting on his shoulder blades as China leant in a little closer. Britain had to snap himself out of it – he couldn't let China draw him in.

"China, I've come to talk to you." Britain announced, just like he rehearsed "What I have to say can't wait."

China looked surprised a moment, then smiled.

"I'm listening." He assured.

"Right. Right! About this whole business with YE!"

Britain let out an embarrassingly hi-pitched yelp as China grabbed his arse and gave it a rough squeeze. Quick as lightning, China swept Britain off his feet with a sweep of his leg, flipping him around and onto his back on the bed. Before Britains brain could even process what had happened, China was on top of him. He smiled again.

"I thought you said you had something to say." He said with a laugh "I'm listening. Go ahead and talk."

China licked his lips – he had no intention of listening.

"China, I don't have those kinds of feelings for you!" Britain said immediately.

"So?" he replied.

"Wh… what do you mean, 'so'? Don't you care if I like you at all?"

"I know what you like." China countered "You like it when I wear my hair down, when I dress in traditional clothes. You like me in red. You like white silk sheets on a hot summer night. You like incense that smells like jasmine and taking a long, hot bath before sex. You especially like-"

China shifted his hips _that certain way, _flooding Britains senses with memories of the 1800's, and his whole body grew untenably hot. China smiled in satisfaction when Britains body reacted, running his hands down his care chest (when had he unbuttoned his shirt?!).

"I know what you like." He repeated, leaning in for the kiss.

God, he smelled like jasmine…the only thing softer than the ebony locks that tickled his ears was his ivory skin, those dainty and elegant hands, so familiar, moving down his chest, those plump, soft lips and-

"No!"

Britain pushed China away, reversing their position so the Asian was on his back. He was surprised a moment, then smiled again, running his hands up Britains arms.

"You always did like switching between submissive and dominant." He remembered.

"You… you always do this!" Britain yelled "You twist everything around to suit you, and you don't care who you hurt in the process! You don't even care that I don't have feelings for you, but you're still willing to tear the UN to ruins just to have me? Why?"

"Because I want you." China responded simply "Isn't that enough?"

"And when you stop wanting me? You'd just throw me away?"

"Pretty much."

Britain huffed.

"This is the reason I didn't stay with you when Hong Kong was born." He pointed out "This kind of thing… it's emotional blackmail… not even that, you're an emotional terrorist! You'll say whatever you want to get your way, not giving a damn who you hurt in the meantime, and as soon as your fun is over then the mess is someone elses problem!"

"I don't understand." China said, completely blasé "Is that a question or a statement?"

Britain grimaced, jumping off the bed and furiously re-doing the buttons on his shirt.

"I'm not surprised you managed to get Russia wrapped around your little finger." He spat "He's so starved and desperate for affection, he'd probably do anything you asked just for you to look in his direction. I feel sorry for him, being trapped with you."

China didn't get up, instead shifting on the bed so he was on his side, resting his hand on his palm.

"Hear me, China!" Britain said certainly "Nothing is going to happen between us! Not now, not ever! You like strong nations? If you cause any more trouble, I'll show you exactly how strong I can be!"

China didn't look worried.

"I've been alive over 4000 years." He pointed out "Your 'not ever' is my 'next week.'"

With a frustrated groan, Britain left the room, slamming the door closed behind him.

"You had seven seconds remaining." Germany informed him.

Britain wanted to swear, very loudly and for a very long time. Besides Germany stood a concerned looking Japan.

"Britain," he said "How did it g-OH! Canada?!"

Where the hell had he come from?! Like the worlds blondest ninja, he appeared from nowhere, picking Japan up as he walked and slinging him over his shoulder like he weighed as much as a sports bag and kept walking, slamming the door to Japans room behind him.

"Sh…should we ask?" Britain supposed.

"I get the feeling we shouldn't." Germany said matter-of-factly "Our business here is done. Let's go."

* * *

It wasn't long after Britain left that Russia arrived, bringing with him his premium vodka and a plate of fatty snack food. He found China laying on his bad, back to the door in a room illuminated only by the moon coming through the window.

"China? Why are you lying about in the dark?" he asked as he turned on the light "It's far too early to be going to bed. I've bought your favourite and everything."

"I don't want it." China spat "If you keep eating you're going to end up fat like America."

"No way." Russia disagreed, closing the door behind him and taking off his coat "Vodka burns calories, you know."

"Idiot."

Russia crossed the room in a stride and sat down on the bed, leaning over China, who still hadn't moved.

"China? My friend, why are you crying?"

"None of your business." He spat "Go away."

"Eh?" Russia just laughed "Have a drink with me China, you'll feel better."

"I don't want a drink." China sobbed, covering his face with his arm and nearly curling into a ball.

Russia let it go a moment, twisting the cap off his expensive vodka and taking a deep swig. Before swallowing, he grabbed Chinas face, turning it towards him, and kissed him full on the lips, letting the vodka slip into the smaller mans mouth. Chinas whole body went bright red in surprise. Russia laughed again as he flustered.

"See?" he said "You feel better already, _da_?"

China stared at him a moment before his body started to shake, fat tears returning to his eyes.

"You're the emotional terrorist." He muttered through his tears.

"Oh? What's that?"

As the tears fell, China put his arms around Russias shoulders, drawing him into another kiss. Russia made sure his expensive vodka was recapped and placed on the floor safely before leaning into him, slipping the red robe off his shoulders.

* * *

"Tell me, is breaking and entering legal in this country?"

"Of course not."

"Then why the hell are you in my room?"

France just smiled as he folded up his clothes and placed them on the dainty chair beside the bed.

"If we are both stubborn, nothing is going to be resolved." He pointed out "If you won't come to me, I must come to you."

"You left America alone?!" Britain cried.

"Of course not." France assured "Estonia and Lithuania are watching 'im – they are very capable. Besides, 'e will be just fine by the morning."

"You-!" Britain sighed "Fuck it, I'm too tired to argue with you."

"Just the way I like you." France teased, unnecessarily helping Britain take off his coat "But might I ask, Cheri, why it is you smell like a Chinese brothel?"

Britain groaned in remembrance.

"I just got everything sorted with China." He reported "It was pretty nasty."

"Got what sorted with him?" France asked.

Of course, no one had seen hide nor hair of France, he wouldn't know what had been going on. Sitting down on the bed and signalling for France to join him, Britain settled in for a long story and, if everything went the way he expected, a raging argument.

* * *

I always seem to turn Hungary into a very sage and matronly character, I wonder why? And for that matter, I've turned China into a real femme fatal! At nearly 4000 words, this is to date my longest chapter. If you're not as tired as I am, please feel free to leave a review!


	15. Chapter 15 Cold Hands, Warm Heart

Ugh, after banging out a chapter a day for a week, this felt like it took forever. I wrote a lot of it on my new tablet, so it took longer! In the end I got sick of it and wrote it on my old computer. Special thanks go to Sora Resi for her valued opinion on my chapter!

* * *

**Cold Hands, Warm Heart.**

Britain had finally fallen asleep. It was the wee early hours of the morning when he had finished his tale, eyes puffy and red from fatigue and emotion. France had listened calmly, nodded where appropriate, and most importantly, stayed silent. Britain was spoiling for a fight, even though he was clearly exhausted - he clearly had a lot to get off his chest. France didn't bite, holding his tongue even when Britain baited him, which he knew would only frustrate him more, but he knew he didn't have a leg to stand on right now. Closing his eyes for a moment in frustration, Britain had silently drifted off. France tucked him into bed, poured himself some coffee and fumed over a cigarette.

He was furious. Blind beyond words, the back of his head was hot and tight, a painful and prickly lump at the fore of his throat. The coffee was bitter and scolding, the cigarette smouldered silently. He stared out of the window at nothing, glaring at the cars and trees as the impregnable, frigid silence of night surrounded him. Any noise was deafening. Every shuffle in the room next to thiers was an intrusion on their space.

He shouldn't have left Britain alone, even for a minute. He wanted to break China's hands, smash in his face, tie him up in a sack and drown him in the Seine... He couldn't, of course, but he wanted to (if China didn't kill him, Russia certainly would, and that's not even considering his younger brothers and sisters). Romano, though... Romano he was going to strangle with his bare hands. How dare that little shit put his hands on his _lapin!_ What did he think he was doing - obnoxious brat, he was never going to hear the end of this. Did that pitiful Italian actually think that Spain was going to see him as anything but the whiny child he had always been? He could laugh if it weren't so pathetic.

So, Spain had given up. France wasn't surprised that he had chosen the happiness of one of his kids over his own. His friend was commendable in his devotion as a father - France knew that, if forced to choose, he would still pick Britain. Even though he loved his children - he would die for them - Britain would always win. Perhaps now he had finally faced the truth, France wouldn't have to watch Spain uselessly pining over him and find someone else to make him happy. Belgium maybe - she'd make a good mother. That said, he thought he might straight cut off Spain's tackle before letting Romano have his way. Britain no longer needed bandages around his chest, but the damage that fucker had done was still clearly visible. He was going to make Romano suffer for it until he forgot why, then make him suffer some more.

With everything that had happened, it was no wonder Germany had taken command - who else could Britain rely on to be strong when he was weak? The thought was bitter like the tar black coffee that sat, untouched, in his hands. He wanted to be that one. He wanted to be the first one Britain went to, to be so reliable and dependable that he didn't need anyone else. Britain was not weak - he was proud and strong and beautiful - so those moments, those rare, weak moments where he couldn't stand alone, needed a hand or a shoulder or an ear... Those moments should belong to France, not Germany.

And poor Italy, he had never meant for him to get hurt. Tomorrow, he would definitely give him a great big 'big brother' hug. Which brought his thoughts to America. He huffed. Fucking America. The most heart rendering thing France had ever seen was the state Britain was left in after the war of independence. Sure, politically the two of them had been enemies at the time, but it was too cruel. Britain had been a broken man for the longest time, the one he loved most having turned his back on him. And for what? Because he saw him as a 'man', not as a 'brother'? What a farce. Typical foolish America. He didn't have to worry, though - the idea that America could win Britains affections as a lover was laughable. Even if Britain was into lovers so significantly younger than himself, loud, brash, uncouth America was completely unsuited for him.

Which left Prussia. He sighed - Prussia was the most difficult for him to wrap his head around, not least because he was living on borrowed time. France didn't want to waste however long he had left on this earth, be it years or even months, fighting with him. It had been his decision to go after Britain, and he didn't regret it, of course, but... Waiting until Prussia had gone felt more underhanded, somehow.

He startled as the cigarette burned to his fingers, dropping it into his chilling coffee. Fuck. He looked at Britain, but he remained sleeping. There was no other choice - his soft hearted love, there was no way he could say what needed to be said to Prussia, his good friend.

Resolved, he stood, walking silently to the door and leaving the room, whole spine grating as the hinges creaked. He closed it slowly to try and silence the squeak before taking the short trip to Prussias room. His friend never locked his door (unless his hotel room was on the same floor as Russias, but careful planning ensured that rarely happened), so France was able to walk right in. Prussia was asleep, of course, but this couldn't wait. He flicked on the light, flooding the room with a harsh yellow glow, making the figure in the bed flinch violently before letting out a groan.

"Weeeest!" Prussia whined "No meetings! Five minutes!"

He rolled over, pulling the sheets over his head. He was still such a kid.

"Prussia, I 'ave to talk to you." he announced, quietly but clearly "Wake up, _mon ami_."

After a moments sleepy contemplation, Prussia threw off the covers.

"France?!" he cried "What are you doing here, you traitorous bastard?!"

"Ssshhh, keep your voice down, people are sleeping!"

"Then why don't you leave?" Prussia hissed at him, grimacing.

"Because I need to talk to you." France said again.

"What makes you think I want to talk to you?"

"Regardless of whether or not you want to, it 'as to be done."

France sat down on the bed, aware of the awful creaking springs and how cold the top sides of the sheets were. Prussia glared at him, but didn't move away. They stared at each other a moment, letting the silence grow.

* * *

The bed was empty when Britain woke up. If there was any way to piss off your partner even more when they were already mad at you, it was to sneak off in the middle of the night to god-knows-where. He was positively fuming as he dressed - France may have avoided a fight yesterday, but today the shit storm was brewing for sure. There was a timid but desperate knock on the door. Britain wanted to ignore it, but it grew more desperate and loud the longer he waited.

"Bloody what?!" he yelled as he opened it.

Jittery Italy stood there, paler and shakier than usual.

"Italy? What's wrong?"

"D-d-d-downstairs." he stuttered "H-he's waiting for you."

"Who is?"

Italy looked up at him, even his eyes shaking.

"Russia."

Britain wasted no time - he was going to take out every last iota of frustration he had towards France on Russia. The Germanic family had gathered in the hall, staring apprehensively down the stairs and shooting Britain concerned looks at Britain as he marched past. Hungary pulled a serious face and pulled out her frying pan, Austria useless as ever to stop her, and even little Lichtenstein looked concerned for him. Germany stood at the head of the stairs, still in his bed clothes. He didn't stop Britain, but did give him the same concerned look, starting the timer on his watch.

As promised, Russia waited downstairs, clad in unusually smart attire for this time in the morning, holding a generous bouquet of sunflowers in his arms. Britain groaned internally - what had that puppet master China talked him into today? Seeing Britain coming down the stairs, he smiled.

"Good morning." he greeted "Did you sleep well?"

Russia called him something, but as he didn't speak the language, he couldn't say exactly what. He held out the bouquet to Britain.

"I bought them for you." he pointed out "Please, take them."

He wasn't sure if he should - he didn't want them, but what would the consequences be if he refused?

Britain regarded the offered flowers a moment before taking them, immediately handing them to whoever was standing behind him. With another shuffle and a soft 'veee~', they disappeared up the stairs. Russia looked past Britain to the gathered congregation of Germanics behind him.

"You're wanting a chaperone?" he asked "That's okay – I chaperone when Ukraine and Belarus have gentleman callers too. It's old fashioned, I know, but I don't like strange man hanging around them." He pulled a face "Also, Belarus won't break so many of Lithuanias fingers if I'm holding her hand."

"I don't need a chaperone." Britain informed him, coming the rest of the way down the stairs.

"Really? That's good too."

"There's a reception room through there." He went on "Follow me."

Russia obliged. The curious Germanics gathered at the bottom of the stairs, only Germany himself brave enough to step to the floor. Russia seemed to notice and laughed to himself as Britain shut the glass panel door behind them.

"You're very close." He noticed "It's nice."

Britain gestured for him to take a seat, which he did, positioning his scarf so it didn't pull and holding his back very strait, hands clasped in his lap. Britain groaned to himself as he sat opposite him. The hotel owner asked them if they wanted something to drink, and they both politely accepted tea.

"I thought you preferred vodka?" Britain asked.

"It's a little early." Russia admitted "And I don't dislike tea. So much time with China, you know."

"I see."

The tea arrived, along with a plate of pastries (how like the French to overdo things), and an awkward silence filled the air between them, broken only by the ticking clock. Over Russias shoulder, Britain could see their observers tip-toeing closer.

"You didn't come here just to have tea with me." Britain pointed out "What do you want?"

"Can I not just have tea and cakes with my friend?" Russia answered.

"We aren't friends."

"That's mean."

Russia still smiled – he was used to such talk. He finished his tea and put his cup and saucer down on the table between them, picking up a jammy pastry.

"I like spending time with you." Russia went on "You look me in the eye when we speak, and every other word isn't 'yessir.' It's nice, especially when it's sunny. I wish our houses were closer so we could be together more often."

Britain stayed silent. Russia liked to meander when he spoke, but eventually he got to the point without Britain nagging him.

"Do you remember Canes?" he went on "You wanted to see that film about Chernobyl, but everyone else was busy, so we went together?"

Britain remembered slightly differently – he had gone alone, and just happened to meet Russia there.

"I remember how you cried." Russia admitted, blushing slightly "I don't know if you know I saw you, but I did. And then we went to dinner and talked all night. It was nice. I wish we could do it more."

Britain would deny crying at that documentary until the day he died. As for talking all night… yes, they had gone for dinner, but his tolerance for vodka was clearly far less than Russias, as he remembered almost nothing. Russia laughed awkwardly.

"I admit, I thought of taking advantage of you that night – you get very… what's the word? Touchy? But in a sexual way?"

"Amorous?" Britain ventured.

Russia laughed again.

"You get very amorous when you're drunk." He continued "I thought it would be easy to get you into bed, but I decided against it – I thought you might hate me if I did something like that. I would hate anyone who did that to me."

"Where are you going with this?" Britain asked, getting sick of his verbal meandering "You don't get Brownie points for not raping me."

"Brownie?"

"Uh…" he tried to explain "Every heard of Scouts? It's like that, only girls."

"Girl Scout… points?"

"It doesn't matter." Britain sighed, knowing full well how confusing his lexicon was to outsiders.

Russia still seemed a little confused, but let the point go.

"You're right." He admitted "A good friend shouldn't do such a thing. I hoped I could prove I was a good friend."

"A good person wouldn't do such a thing." Britain defended.

"So you think I'm a good person?"

Russia smiled happily as Britain 'tsk'd – he'd been backed into a verbal corner with that one. Russia laughed and finished his pastry.

"Does China know you're here?" Britain spat.

"Dunno." Russia admitted, mouth still full "Sometimes he knows things, other times he doesn't. He's strange that way."

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Russia, it's most unbecoming."

True enough, Russia finished chewing and swallowed before speaking again.

"I was disappointed when you chose France." He admitted "You're very unsuited for each other."

"That's not true." Britain defended immediately.

"It is." Russia disagreed "As they say, 'love is blinding.' After sex, what do you two have in common? You don't like any of the same things, not even movies."

"Opposites attract." Britain spat "And the phrase is 'love is blind' not 'love is blinding.'"

"What's the difference?"

Britain grabbed a croissant, stuffing it in his mouth before he could say something he'd regret.

"What I've always found strange," Russia went on "Is this culture of infidelity France has – a man can have as many mistresses as he wants and it's okay, the wife just has to put up with it." He smiled at Britain "I can't imagine you putting up with that."

"That's a gross exaggeration."

"Is that so? France has had so many girlfriends… it's hard for me to tell what's true with him."

"I know what you're doing and it won't work." Britain pointed out.

Russia just kept smiling.

"You know because it's already working." He teased "I can see in your eyes that you don't trust France. No one can. He goes through lovers faster than I go through vodka, and now he's broken his word with Prussia and Spain, who can ever trust what he says again?"

Britain huffed.

"And here I thought China was pulling the strings – you're not without ways yourself."

"China is very honest with me." Russia insisted "He's not the 'puppet-master' you make him out to be."

"Agree to disagree."

Russia just laughed.

"China was certain his way was the right way." He confessed "He figured that since France was good for nothing but sex, he could do it better." He blushed "He's not wrong."

"Spare me the mental image."

"I commend him for trying, but his way was the wrong way – I didn't think someone like you would be in a relationship just for sex, and I was right."

"Someone like me? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Hm? It's not an insult." Russia insisted.

Britain was getting annoyed – this tea was disgusting, and talking about this was making him nauseous. Russia may not be as direct as China, but he was sure persistent.

"I don't have those kinds of feelings for you, Russia."

He groaned inwardly – was this becoming his catchphrase or what? Although, considering Russias somewhat… childlike emotional state, he may just have to spell it out for him.

"Just because I'm not afraid of you doesn't mean that I love you." He elaborated, although it sounded cruel, even to his own ears.

"Love is a complicated emotion." Russia said maturely "You say you love France, but you clearly don't trust him. You clearly love America, but not the way he loves you. China loves you, but doesn't really like you. I love you, but my reasons feel a little dull."

Reasons? That was a new one. So far, the only 'reason' he had been given was from Spain… unless you counted Chinas desire for strong countries, but that didn't equate to loving _him,_ did it? No one else – even France – had cared to explain themselves. Noticing him staring thoughtfully at his face, Russia blushed, smiling happily.

"You're doing it again." He announced.

"Doing what?" he asked.

"Giving me a reason to love you."

"Uh?"

Russia laughed.

"I don't suppose you'd know." He said "Even the 'black sheep of Europe' is loved and respected. You have many friends, and even your enemies forgive you easily. Not me." He looked sad "People fear me, they don't love or respect me. They shake in my presence and don't look at me. Those that do, their eyes are filled with hate…even my own sisters left me…" he smiled again, looking back at Britain "You look right at me, all the time. You say you don't love me, but I see no hate or fear either. Even now, you sit here talking with me like old friends – you didn't even want a chaperone, even though your friend Germany is right outside the door. You may not think that's much, but to me, it's a great deal."

Britain was speechless. What could he say? It was pathetically touching.

"It makes me want to treat you gently." Russia admitted, blushing heavily "I think that if I did, you might like me more."

"Is that what you did with China?" Britain asked, bringing him up so he wouldn't get sucked in by Russias soppy words.

Said Russia shook his head.

"China was the one to treat me gently." He admitted "In return, I let him think he controls me. It's strange, I know, but it works, I think."

"And how would China feel if you left him to be with me? Don't you think he'd be heartbroken?"

"No way." Russia laughed "We talked about it, years ago. We don't mess around like the idiot trio, but we talk a lot, so I think we're better friends. China said he would forgive me, but only if it was you."

"How touching." Britain muttered "So what now, Russia? You know where I stand."

"_Da_, I know. I just came to give you something."

_You couldn't give it to me and leave? _Russia fished about in his pocket and pulled out a rectangular wooden box, ribbon tied around the top like a scarf. He handed it to Britain.

"Do you like the bow? I thought it was cute, and it might remind you of me. Please, open it."

Britain was full of apprehension. Should he open it? It could be a worse bomb than the sunflowers earlier. What message would it send to Russia is he did? What message would it send to France? Russia had made his feelings pretty clear, and he seems sincere… the box wasn't big enough to be holding any of Frances disembodied organs… fuck, he would have to open it, if only for the sake of his diplomatic relations.

The lacquered box had a hinge in the middle, held shut by and elaborate little brass clasp. He opened it gingerly, half-afraid it would break, half-afraid of what lay within it. Nothing exploded, nothing oozed. Russia waited patiently, tapping his fingers together. Britain could have sighed in relief – it was just an egg.

Well, 'just an egg' would be an alarming underexaggeration – it was a Faberge egg, the kind Russia was known for. It was emerald green all over, adorned with an ornate gold pattern. Curiously, at the top, it was adorned with silver embossing, like swirling clouds.

"It reminded me of you." Russia admitted "Green and gold. The silver reminds me of your clouds. It's funny because the man who made it did so after visiting your country."

"It's… um… well…"

"You don't like it?"

"Not at all," Britain assured "It's just very… elaborate."

"Da, and it opens."

Sure enough, along the gold gilding in the middle was another little hinge. Taking it gently out of the box, he prized it open.

"It's a clock." Russia pointed out "So it's useful too."

"That's… that's very nice of you, Russia, thank you." Britain admitted "But you really shouldn't have."

"There's ulterior motive." He confessed "It's a clock so you can see the exact time you get sick of France and think of me."

"Russia-"

"I'm patient, I'll wait." He said "But I know it will happen. You can't be with a man you can't trust. When France messes up so bad that you can't forgive him – and I don't think it will take long – I will definitely be there. I won't do anything you don't like."

Russia stood, straightening out his clothes.

"I should go now, Belarus wants to go to the hospital of visit Switzerland, and it's not wise to let her go alone."

"She's afraid of them?"

"Not at all, she likes them." He pulled another face "A little too much. _Das Vedanya_, Britain."

Seeing him stand, the Germanics ran back to the stairs, like the raised elevation would save them. Russia waved to them as he passed, and the minute he had closed the door behind him, they all but ran to the reception room.

"What did he say?" Germany asked right away.

"Did he surrender?" Hungary demanded to know.

"What's that thing in your hand?" Liechtenstein enquired.

Britain sighed. How long must this circus go on?

"A lot, not really, and an egg." He answered.

He stood, handing to the egg to the girl so she could get a better look.

"I don't think he'll cause problems, but he's not 'giving up' either." He elaborated.

"What exactly did he say?" Hungary interrupted before Germany could speak.

"I'll wait.'" Britain echoed.

Hungary 'hmm'd, tugging her hair thoughtfully.

"I have to call the girls." she announced, grabbing her husbands arm and pulling him from the room, Austria clearly pulling his 'why me?' expression.

"This is a good sign." Germany said, now that he was able to speak "Both China and Russia have been dealt with, so we don't have to worry about our trade agreements. If that fire was good for anything, it was to heal the rift between Prussia and Spain. Things are taking care of themselves."

"Themselves?" Britain moaned.

"Are you sure the trade with China won't be affected?" Liechtenstein asked "He's a sore loser, he might go back on his agreements."

Germany and Britain looked at her, surprised – she was such a tiny country, she almost never spoke at world conferences. She blushed, but remained on point.

"Switzy is injured." She pointed out "I have to be responsible until he gets better."

"Yes, quite right." Britain complimented "But Chinas entire economy is heavily reliant on its export, so going back on agreements because he's in a bad mood would be a very rash decision."

"Agreed." Germany stated.

"So, what about big brother Prussia?" Liechtenstein asked "He doesn't have any economic power."

"True as that is, any German who considers themselves to have Prussian blood is going to be feeling pretty aggressive towards the French." Germany elaborated "If that kind of animosity continues, it will hurt our diplomatic relations."

"I don't want another war." Liechtenstein muttered to herself "As bad as the fire was, war is much worse."

"No argument here." Britain agreed "With Russia and China out of action, the spectre of war is greatly reduced, and the rift between Spain and Prussia – or rather, than Spanish and German people – seems to have improved as well."

"This is great progress. Now we just need to find a way to fix things between France and my brother, and everything will be back to normal."

"Not exactly." Britain grimaced, chewing on his words like a hive of bees in his mouth "There's America to deal with."

"America?"

"Isn't he your brother?" Lichtenstein asked.

Britain sighed miserably.

"I don't get it either." He admitted, scratching his head.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." Germany announced "He might see it as an attack if you confront him in his weakened state. We should deal with Prussia first."

"Where is Prussia?" the girl wondered, looking about "I haven't seen him yet today."

"Probably still in bed." Germany growled knowingly "Don't tell him Russia was here."

"I won't." she promised, shaking her head.

"I still don't know what to say to him." Britain admitted.

"How about you just be honest?" Lichtenstein suggested, giving him back the egg "You should say 'I really really like you as my friend, but I don't like you that way.'"

Britain envied her earnesty – there was no way he could say something like that. Germany seemed to agree.

"Girls sure have it easy." He muttered, possibly remembering the Awkward Years with Italy.

"You don't need to say it." A familiar voice announced.

They looked around – Prussia stood behind them, dressed shabbily. He was pale, his eyes red rimmed and bloodshot, his hair unbrushed. He had his hands in his pockets and wore a devastated smile.

"I surrender." He announced.

"What?"

"Just like that?"

He laughed bitterly.

"Yeah… just like that." He agreed, scratching his head "France and I talked it over. We came to an understanding."

Sure enough, France appeared behind him, also pale with red rimmed eyes, laying a supportive hand on his back.

"I just want things to go back to the way they were. Sorry."

"Prussia…" Britain started.

Prussia ignored him, walking away and to the dining room for some breakfast. France followed him. As his shoulders started to shake, France put his arm around him.

"Come now," he cooed gently "Don't start crying again."

But he couldn't help it. He turned back to France, throwing his arms around him and crying into his chest, as he had done much of the night.

* * *

This chapter was looooong! But initially it was longer, as I had France and Prussias conversation written in here, but I felt the chapter was stronger without it. If ten people ask me to post it, I'll include it as a bonus chapter. There's only two chapters left, and France is still in deep trouble with England - how will it work out? Please be patient a little longer!


	16. Chapter 16 Look At Me!

Things are wrapping up, readers...

* * *

**Look At Me!**

America was pissed – again, Britain had run away. He didn't dislike Lithuania and Estonia, not at all, but they weren't Britain. His lungs stung something fierce, and for the longest time he couldn't keep his eyes open. The plastic mask on his face was itchy and made him sweat, and he felt like he needed a wash. Why hadn't Britain stayed with him? He was injured, afterall, if Britain loved him at all, he should have stayed. Where had he gone? Who was he with? Was he in danger? Why hadn't he stayed?

Estonia and Lithuania exchanged glances as they saw his solemn expression.

"How about something to eat?" Lithuania offered "Or some coffee? I think I saw a McDonalds on the way here."

"I bought my laptop." Estonia joined in "How about you play some video games?"

"You guys are kind." America complimented "But I don't really feel like eating or playing games right now." He sighed "Do you… know where Britain went?" he asked.

The two looked between themselves again.

"He's probably with Germany, getting everything taken care of after the fire." Lithuania knew "There's a lot to do, you know."

"Yes!" Estonia agreed "Everyone is really very busy right now."

"You guys aren't busy." America pointed out.

Checkmate.

"We're… taking care of you…?" Lithuania ventured.

America wasn't buying it. He sighed – he couldn't get mad at these two, they were just doing what they were asked by the stronger nations. America wanted to go and find Britain himself, but his clothes had been ruined in the fire, and besides, he had no idea where to start looking. His two handlers nearly leapt out of their skins when the door opened.

"Hey, America." Canada greeted, seemingly not noticing the quivering Baltics "How are you feeling?"

"You look like you're in a good mood." America noted "I didn't know you had so many teeth, dude."

"Eh? Do I?"

Sure enough, Canada was grinning from ear to ear. He blushed and scratched the back of his head in embarrassment.

"I had a pretty good night." He confessed.

"Mm-hm." America teased knowingly "And how was Japans night?"

Canada blushed worse, laughing awkwardly.

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell." He mumbled.

America chuckled as his brother flustered. Estonia and Lithuania made their excuses and left them alone. Canada dropped a sports bag on his bed as he sat down.

"Europeans are sure built small." He complained "It took me a while to find things that would fit. I don't know if they're your style, but it's better than nothing."

"Thanks, man, what do I owe you?"

"Just don't go to Japans place this spring – I have a little something planned for us."

"Sure." America laughed.

He rifled through the bag – the clothes weren't really his style, but he couldn't complain: Canada didn't have to get him anything, afterall.

"Hey, thanks for staying with me so long yesterday." He said to his brother.

"That's okay." Canada said "I would have stayed longer, but I had something I had to take care of."

"That's a terrible way to refer to Japan. Ow! Don't hit sick people!"

They both laughed. Finding an OK shirt, America pulled off his gross sweaty vest. Out of politeness, Canada swivelled around to face the other way.

"Hey, do you know where Britain went?" America asked.

"He went to the hospital to pay some visits." Canada revealed "Germany found a new hotel and got him a room – he figured it would be safer."

"Safer for who?"

"Oh, you know… everyone. The nations are all split up, so whoever the target of the fire was will be pretty obvious if the arsonist strikes again. The ones that aren't in the hospital, anyway."

"Wasn't everyone the target?" America supposed.

"I guess… we'll find out, anyway."

America had his own theories. At first he thought it was Russia, mainly because he was Americas go-to-bad-guy, but after being pulled out the building by the commie, he had to concede he had his doubts. After Russia, his suspicions turned to one of the German brothers.

"What? Why them?" Canada asked.

"Think about it." America insisted as he pulled on a pair of trousers "Prussias got one foot in the grave, and people like that tend to get crazy and desperate. And what wouldn't Germany do to see his brother happy in his final years? It's not like Germans aren't known to take things to the extreme."

"That's ridiculous." Canada argued.

"Is it?"

"Yes! Prussia may be a little wild, but he's not crazy! And besides, there's no way Germany would jeopardise everything he's worked so hard to build since the 50's."

"I dunno." America disagreed "If you were dying and had one final wish, I might burn down a building."

"You'll go before me." Canada guaranteed "You don't think China might have done it?"

"No way, dude's dependant on other nations for export, remember?"

"That's… surprisingly grown up for you to say."

"Dude, I pay attention sometimes. Besides, a big old fire isn't Chinas style – I imagine him to be more of a 'poison you enemies' type. He'd have his ninjas sneak into the kitchen and put MK45 into the water supply or something."

"Ninjas are Japanese."

"You'd know."

America narrowly missed being smacked by his brother again.

"Ok, so how do you like Spain for the fire?" he postured.

"With all his kids in the building?" Canada reminded him.

"So, maybe it was one of his kids? Their whole family has a 'dark side' vibe going on – don't forget what Romano did."

"Yeah," he conceded "But burning down the hotel while Britain was away is kind of the opposite to what Romano did."

"Whatever, I still think it fits. That or one of the crazy fangirls did it."

"Crazy fangirls?"

"Sure, you saw how intense everything was getting – the lady nations were going nuts!"

"That's sexist, America."

"Doesn't mean it isn't true."

Canada groaned, willing his brother to stop talking – just because no lady nations were there, doesn't mean he should go sticking his foot in his mouth.

"Is Britain still at the hotel?" he asked.

"Um, I think so. I'm not sure. I was at a different hotel."

"So, where's this hotel at?"

"I don't know. Why don't you call him and ask?"

"I lost my phone in the fire, bro."

"Oh, right…"

Canada fished out his phone – luckily his pockets were more sensible than Americas – and gave Britain a call. He didn't sound too happy, to say the least.

"Is everything okay?" Canada asked him, piquing his brothers attention.

"Nothing you need to worry about." Britain assured, sighing audibly "How's America doing?"

"Oh, back on his feet." Canada assured as his brother tried to listen in on the conversation, scooching up so close he may as well have been trying to occupy the same space "You'd never know he was sick."

"Well, that's one good thing." Britain said, relief clear in his voice "It looks like we'll have this whole mess sorted out soon, so you boys will be able to go home."

"Oh?" Canada was surprised "Wasn't it all up in the air yesterday?"

Britain grumbled unintelligibly.

"I took care of things with China yesterday." He confessed "Russia took care of things with himself earlier on. And then there's Prussia…"

"Is he okay?" Canada asked.

"I don't think so." Britain confessed, clearly worried.

"So, that's everyone, right?"

Britain grumbled again.

"You're kidding…"

"Luckily there's only one." He sighed "But it's going to be the most difficult I think."

"Who is it?" Canada asked, honestly having no clue "You want me to go with you to talk to them?"

"No, I wouldn't put you in that position, Canada, but thank you anyway." He sighed again "I think this one may be a monster of my own making. I'll have to think carefully before I talk to him."

Canada still wanted to know who it was, but didn't want to pressure Britain, as he was clearly having a bad enough time of it already.

"Okay." He said "Let me know if you need anything."

"I will." Britain assured "Just you take care of America for me until I see you later."

"Sure thing."

With a brief goodbye, he hung up, and with an embarrassing start, realised he had forgotten to ask where the damn hotel was. He went to apologise to America (who had moved away enough that Canada didn't feel like he was trying to mind meld with him), but he had a strange expression on his face.

"Monster…?" he muttered to himself.

"Haven't you heard that phrase?" Canada asked, knowing that Americas vocabulary wasn't quite as… _large_ as Britains "A 'monster of my own making' means 'a problem I created.' Its kind of old fashioned, and I've only ever heard Britain use it. It's funky, eh?"

He immediately perked up, although he still looking confused.

"So… he doesn't think I'm a monster?" he asked hopefully.

The penny dropped.

"You're kidding…"

* * *

"So, that's the essence of the situation." Japan finished, head bowed "I mean, if it isn't too much to ask."

"Are you kidding?" Britain enthused "I think that's wonderful! It's about time I had some good news!"

"Eh? Really?!"

"Of course, of course!"

Britain grabbed Japans hand, shaking it enthusiastically. Beside him, France pulled his curious-but-impressed face.

"I would never 'ave thought you were little Canadas type." He admitted "I admit, I thought _la belle_ Ukraine was more 'is type."

"I…I'm so happy you're ok with this." Japan confessed "I was afraid it would jeopardise our friendship."

"Oh, codswallop!" Britain assured "Canada's a big boy now, if he's in love, better yet that it's one of my old friends, then more's the better! Good for him! Good for you both!"

"Please talk slower." Japan muttered.

"I 'ad no idea we were all so old fashioned still." France pointed out "Russia with 'is chaperones and Japan asking for our blessings." He laughed to himself "Per'aps when my Seychelles falls in love, the gentleman will come to me to ask for 'er 'and in marriage."

"What makes you think it will be a man?" Britain pointed out.

"Statistics." He answered with a shrug "There are simply far more male nations than female." He sighed theatrically "It's a shame, really. I wish I 'ad been more appreciative of the time of Gaullia and Britannia."

"Who?" Japan asked.

"Our mothers." Britain reminded him.

"Ah, yes." Japan recalled.

"I'll tell you what!" Britain said "When this mess is cleared up, you two must come to dinner in London to celebrate. I absolutely insist!"

"That's very kind of you, Britain-san."

"Not at all, not at all, I look forward to it!"

Satisfied that he had the blessing of his good friend and Canadas close family, Japan bid them goodbye and went to find Italy. Watching him leave, France placed his hand on Britain s shoulder, only to have it thrown off within moments. He knew he was still in trouble when Britain glared at him.

"_Lapin_," he started.

"Don't you '_lapin_' me!" Britain interrupted "I'm still pissed at you! You're not going to weasel your way out of this conversation today!"

"Yes, my love."

Britain grimaced at him. He locked the door to his room so they couldn't be interrupted. Resigned, but feeling considerably calmer after his conversation with Prussia, France sat on the bed, crossing his legs. Of course, he had argued with Britain before, but they hadn't been lovers at the time, and he was determined that it wasn't going to end in the usual way (fisticuffs, that is). Britain marched back, standing in front on France defiantly.

"I've told you what's been happening the last few days." He began "Now it's your turn – where the bloody hell have you been?"

"I was at home." France told him "I thought I would give everyone a little space to think for a while."

"Then why didn't you answer your fucking phone?!" Britain demanded "Do you have any idea how many fucking times I called you, you git?! Didn't you think _I_ might want to talk to you?!"

"I'm sorry-"

"Oh, you're sorry?! Well, that makes it alright then, doesn't it?!"

"Britain, be fair-"

"I AM being fair!" he insisted "You created a massive mess, an international-fucking-incident, and then you just buggered off! You didn't even tell _me_ what it was about! Why not?! Did you think I was going to run off with Spain or Prussia?"

"Of course not."

"Then why didn't you tell me?! Why didn't you tell me when we started going out, why didn't you tell me back in the 90's when this shit started? Where you just messing with me or what?!"

"Of course I wasn't."

"Then answer my bloody question, you wanker!"

France looked up at his love – his green eyes were full of anger and hurt, and a desperate pleading right on their edges that made his heart bleed. He took a deep breath to clear his head, holding it a moment before letting it out.

"Back in the '89, when this all started," he began "We 'ad just got Prussia back. With Germany re-unified, 'e was starting to grow sick. I was so scared of losing 'im… we all thought 'e might disappear any minute."

Britain pulled a pained face – he was Prussias good friend, he knew well how every moment with him was precious.

"I didn't want to spend what little time we 'ad left fighting." France continued "That's why I made the agreement with Spain and Prussia. If Prussia 'ad told you 'e loved you before I, would you 'onestly 'ave left 'im for me?"

Britain looked away. France already knew the answer of course, but he wasn't mad – that loyalty was one of his finest qualities.

"I couldn't stand it." He admitted "If I saw you and Prussia together, I knew I would grow to 'ate 'im. I couldn't stand the idea of 'ating my dear, dear friend in 'is final years. And Spain… I knew 'e was pining over a fantasy, at best a memory. I knew the truth would only 'urt you both. I was just trying to protect my friends."

"Then why did you break your promise?" Britain asked, calmer, but still clearly hurt "Why did you turn your back on your friends? Didn't you care anymore if they got hurt?"

"Of course I cared." France admitted "But I… I couldn't stand… to be alone anymore."

Feeling hollow inside, France took Britains hand, and was elated when he didn't pull it back. He rubbed the back of his hand against his cheek.

"I was so alone for so long." He continued "At the end of the day, Prussia went back to 'is brother, Spain went back to 'is kids… but I was alone, my kids so far away. My 'ouse was so big and empty, I never wanted to go 'ome. I filled my time with women and fine food and pleasurable things… but it was all so hollow. I was only whole when I was with you."

France looked back up into Britains eyes – he was sad and unsure. Why was it so hard for him to trust?

"I love you, Britain." He promised "Far more than I ever loved Prussia or Spain. When I got sick, and you came to take care of me… I couldn't stand to see you leave. I thought I might die for sure if I 'ad to watch you walk away."

He kissed Britains hand. His resolution was cracking.

"I 'andled it wrong." He admitted "And I am very, very sorry. I spoke to Prussia, I made 'im understand. I wish I 'ad done that first, but I cannot change what 'as 'appened. When we are done 'ere, I will find Spain and speak to 'im as well."

"Why didn't you answer my calls?" Britain repeated, fighting tears "I wanted to talk to you."

France stood from the bed, wrapping his arms around Britain and holding him close.

"I'm sorry." He said quietly, losing his fingers in Britains golden hair "I will never ignore your calls again, no matter what 'appens." He tightened his grip "I couldn't stand to be without you anymore. Even those few days without you were more than I could bare! When this is all settled… please, let's not waste time. Let's get married, even if it's only you and I in at city 'all. I need you. I love you."

"I can't trust you." Britain mumbled into his chest.

"But you love me." France knew "And I will earn your trust, even if it takes me another 1000 years."

Frances heart leapt as Britain returned his embrace, unsurely at first, then with more confidence. He didn't want to ruin the moment, so just held him, drinking in his embrace.

* * *

Estonia and Lithuania ran for it the minute France and Britain returned. At best, the powerful nations would ask them to do something else for them if they stayed. At worst…well, they were jittery nations for a reason. France thanked them for taking care of America in his absence, giving them both an expensive bottle of wine as a token of his appreciation. Canada offered to stay, but he clearly didn't want to – in fact, he looked decidedly uncomfortable. After Britain shared some insider information about his old friend Japan with his new squeeze ('He's very fond of maple trees, don't ask me why, but you can definitely use it to your advantage!' 'Is that so?'), Canada followed Estonia and Lithuania out the door.

France happily pottered about in the kitchen, leaving America and Britain in the living room. He should have thought about this more before coming. America stared at him expectantly, but he still wasn't sure what to say – he was certain America wouldn't jump him like China had, but he didn't expect him to be as reasonable as Russia…God, that's a scary thought.

"So everything got taken care of with Russia?" America said suddenly, causing him to jump a little.

"Ah, yes, that's right." Britain confirmed.

"What did you say?" America asked "Did you threaten to start a war? Did you have blackmail on him? Did you threaten to reform the empire?"

"No, no, nothing like that." Britain interrupted "I just talked to him, that's all. He backed off when I told him I didn't have those kinds of feelings for him. He's more reasonable than you give him credit for, America."

Liar…slightly…kind of…

"Really?" America seemed surprised and put off "Russia's gone up in my estimations the past few days… maybe I owe him an apology…" he thought a moment "Actually, scratch that, he's a communist."

"He's a socialist." Britain corrected

"What's the difference?"

"Well… China's a communist…"

"What?! No way! When did that happen?!"

_Really, America? Really?_

"It's not important."

"You're right." America agreed "But what is important-!"

America grabbed Britains hands, looking him right in the eye – his blue eyes were so earnest, it was off-putting.

"I love you." He announced bluntly "I know you've been hearing that a lot lately, but I really, really mean it. I came on too strong the other day, and I'm sorry, but I didn't think you'd listen if I just told you."

"America-"

"Please, hear me out." He interrupted "You may only think of me as your brother, and once that was true of me too, but the bigger I got, the smaller you seemed." He took a breath, looking sad "I started to notice how tired you were, how many wounds you had. I didn't know about everything that was going on in Europe because you never told me anything. I just knew I wanted to protect you."

He looked Britain right in the eye.

"I wanted to protect you." He repeated "I wanted to make you feel safe, like you always did for me when I was scared or hurt, but I was too small. I wanted to be strong, that's why…"

He trailed off, looking away. He knew Britain didn't like to talk about Americas independence.

"I'm strong now." He pointed out, looking back at him "Stronger even than you. Will you let me protect you now?"

He squeezed Britains hand, eyes resolute. Britain was very aware of France humming to himself in the next room, even if America was able to ignore him.

"America… I don't need you to protect me." Britain pointed out "I'm the United Kingdom – I'm the most powerful island on the planet."

"And I'm the most powerful nation in existence!" America insisted "No one would ever mess with you if we were together! You'd never, ever have to fight again."

"America…"

He couldn't help himself – he patted America on the head.

"Then what will you become?" he asked "It's a nations duty to do what's best for their people, even if they have to fight for them. If you have to protect my interests as well as yours, what do you think will become of you?"

"You did it." America pointed out "When Canada and I were little. You had a whole empire you looked out for."

"That empire is gone." Britain pointed out "All empires fall. I barely got out of that in one piece."

"I'm not trying to build an empire!" America swore "I just want you!"

America tried to put his arms around Britain, but he stopped him, gently but firmly. His heart nearly broke from his hurt expression.

"America." He said slowly "I'm sorry. No matter how strong you become, to me, you're only ever going to be my little brother. I love you, I promise… but not that way."

He was immediately devastated – America could never hide his feelings.

"You won't… even try? You won't give me a chance? Not even one?" his voice grew more desperate "I know I can make you happy!"

Britain shook his head, keeping his eyes on America. Tears swelled in his azure eyes. He dropped Britains hands, standing suddenly, and stormed from the room. Britain flinched as he slammed the front door closed behind him, causing the whole house to shake. After a brief moment, France poked his head around the door.

"I wasn't sure if I should interrupt." He said "Are you okay?"

"Of course." Britain assured "I'm fine."

"My love, you are a terrible lair."

France was right. Britains whole body was shaking, tears threatening to burst forth any moment. He was losing America again. France came into the room, sat with Britain on the couch and wrapped his arms around him, letting him cry.

* * *

It was much later. With everything that had happened, they were both exhausted and didn't want to cook. Just for once, they ordered a take-away, and half an hour later, stumbled into Frances car to collect it.

"Good god!" Britain swore "What the fuck is that smell?!"

"Smells like something died." France agreed, covering his nose with his handkerchief "It did _not_ smell like this on the drive over."

"Where's it coming from?"

The two looked all around the car, but the source of the smell continued to elude them.

"The boot?" Britain suggested.

They both got out of the car and went to the back. Britain briefly checked the tyres and under the car, wondering if France had driven over some animal on the way over that neither of them noticed. As France popped the boot, the stench alone was enough to make him recoil, swearing loudly and retching.

In the boot lay the carcass of a pig, half charred and rotting all over, lying in a pool of its own blood and god-knows-what. It was badly mutilated, only the head left to indicate what the animal had once been. The stench… good god, the stench! Like sulphur and bile and rotting meat with an undercurrent of something chemical. Despite the putrid mess, carved into the animals flesh, Britain could make out a single word:

'DIE'

* * *

CanaPan really came out of nowhere - seriously, I didn't plan it! It's sweet anyway. So, with one chapter left, Britains finally put everyone in their place and laid down the law, but _someone's_ not happy about it. After such a long talk with Russia, Americas rejection feels very quick, but since USUK is done and in more detail so well elsewhere, I didn't want to drag it out. Sorry, USUKr's, I can't imagine England seeing America as anything but his brother. Final chapter coming soon!


	17. Chapter 17 I've Made Up My Mind

Ok, I cheated - I've put France and Prussia conversation in this chapter instead of giving it its own, so there's a couple of time skips here. I may have some enemies by the end of this chapter.

* * *

**I've Made Up My Mind**

The police weren't impressed - nothing was a better shorthand for an attack on the French than a mutilated pig (frogs lacked the same impact, it seemed). When asked if he had any enemies who might wish him ill, it was awkward for France to admit that there were several. He didn't have to explain much, it seemed, as the idea of a jealous ex's/suitors doing something like this wasn't unusual to them. As they stood in the twilight giving their statements, two familiar faces joined them, bringing with them dinner and alcohol.

Prussia still looked pale, but more settled than before and Spain, for all Britain could tell, was back to his normal self. He immediately recoiled at the stench coming from the carcass, running into Frances house to be sick.

"Hey, put my beer in the fridge while you're there!" Prussia yelled after him, his own arms still full.

The stench didn't seem to bother him as much, but he made a point not to look at it.

"You run that over or what?" he asked "Smells rank."

The police questioned him briefly, but he didn't know anything. Having purged the contents of his stomach, they also questioned Spain.

"_Si_, we had a fight." he admitted "That's why we're here. We wanted to sit down and talk about things, see if we couldn't work something out and all be friends again. We even bought dinner with us."

"Yeah, seriously." Prussia confirmed "I haven't seen anything that nasty since the war. Looks fucking gross."

The police seemed satisfied, and truth be told, both France and England were as well - those two were jokesters for sure, but something like this was deliberately cruel. With their inspection of the car complete, the police hauled the carcass away for further testing, leaving the boot stained and sticky. France was clearly more disgusted than disturbed.

"I 'ave to buy a new car." he announced.

The other three agreed entirely.

In retrospect, Spain and Prussia were glad they had opted for the chicken and beef feast option and not the lamb and pork. It would be safe to say that none of them would be eating pork for a while. True to what they had told the police, Spain and Prussia had come to see how much of their friendship could be salvaged now that the chaos was over. The fission was clearly still there between them, as they spoke politely and guardedly to each other, but it was also clear that they were keen to work things out. Britain offered to leave to give them some space, but they insisted he stay - keeping things a secret from him was part of what caused the problem in the first place. He did notice, however, that France kept a little distance from him, certainly more than he would if they were alone.

They didn't bring enough alcohol to get drunk, just loosen their tongues enough to speak candidly with each other. Britain was left with the impression that things would take time to return the way they had been. They went to leave soon after midnight.

"Hey, there's a letter here." Prussia announced as they put their coats on.

"What?" France was confused "What kind of postman delivers this time of night? 'E should strike."

"No stamp." Spain pointed out as he picked it up "Hand delivered? Oh, it's for Britain."

Alarm bells sounded for all of them. Prussia snatched the envelope and tore it open. After reading the letter within, he tentatively handed it to Britain. It was typed and unsigned.

'If I can't have you, no-one can.' it read 'I'll kill France and take his place.'

France paled immediately, grabbing Britains shoulders. Not having read the note, Spain was immediately concerned.

"You okay?" he asked "Should we stay? Should we get the police back?"

Britain screwed the paper up.

"There's nothing to worry about." he assured.

"I disagree!" France declared.

"It's fine." Britain repeated "Whoever this coward is isn't going to come after you while I'm around."

Of course, Britain was far stronger than France. The taller man immediately put his arms around Britains shoulders. They all picked up the implication - that Britain had no intention of leaving France, now or ever - but considering the last week, they let it hang in the air silently. Spain and Prussia left, and France and Britain went to bed. France immediately had his arms around Britain as they lay down.

"I won't do anything." he promised "I'm just feeling sorry for myself."

Britain didn't mind. He returned Frances embrace. Despite his earlier bravado, he couldn't help but be concerned.

* * *

The next day, the nations were more than happy to report that the troubles were over, and they could return home whenever they pleased. Most, already sick of events, jetted off that very same afternoon, especially if they had a long journey ahead of them. The neighbouring Europeans took a more leisurely pace, packing up their cars over the course of the day. Britain checked out of the hotel and shifted his suitcases back to Frances house, much to his delight. They went back to the hotel to bid goodbye to the Germanics.

"I don't envy you." Britain admitted "You've got one hell of a drive ahead."

"_Ja_." Germany grumbled as he piled the suitcases on top of his car "We should get to Austrias place by the end of the day. We'll stay the night there and continue home in the morning."

"Five of you in that car is going to be cosy."

"Italy's going back to his place with his brother, thank goodness." Germany told him "So it's only going to be four of us. Not that that's not enough with my brother and his favourite victim in the car."

"I thought you were his favourite victim." Britain teased "Besides, I'm sure he'll behave himself while Austrias hands are bandaged."

"Hey Mozart, catch!"

Maybe not. Prussia shot past them like a bullet, tailed by a furious Hungary. Britain couldn't help but chuckle to himself.

"Where's France?" Germany asked, looking around "Wasn't he right here?"

"He went to get us some food for the trip." Austria informed them as he sauntered over "As if we're a bunch of children who can't go a few hours without something to eat."

"But he'll be the first to complain if he's hungry." Germany muttered just loud enough for Britain to hear.

"Ah, there he is now." Austria went on, motioning to the open gate set in the high, ivy covered walls.

France crossed the road casually, a couple of plastic bags in his hands. As he fished his ringing phone from his pocket, Prussia appeared behind him, grabbing the back of his shirt and hauling him off the road as a van hurtled past them, not even slowing down as it screeched around the corner.

Germany and Britain ran to them as Prussia pushed France off of him and onto the pavement, coughing after the weight of France crashed so suddenly into him. France stared down the road after the van, aghast.

"Bruder, are you alright?!"

"France?!"

Hungary appeared behind them. Placing her hands on Prussias shoulders.

"That van!" she cried "It was aiming for France!"

Frances eyes stayed on the road. On his phone, a single word was displayed:

Dodge.

* * *

It was late. Not protected by the warm bed covers, France was acutely aware of how cold it was. Before him on the bed, Prussia glared at him, no sound between them but the fragile white noise that existed only at this time in the morning.

"I'm sorry." France said finally.

"You should be." was his friends strait reply.

France laughed bitterly. Okay. Devoid of anything to do with his hands, he took one of Prussias, rubbing the back of it with his thumb.

"Tell me, Prussia," he went on "What do you like so much about Britain?"

"Ha?" Prussia seemed surprised "You came all the way here in the middle of the night to talk about feelings like a woman? Seriously?"

"You may laugh, but if we 'ad done this before, we could 'ave saved ourselves a lot of 'eartache. So please, tell me, what do you like so much about Britain?"

Prussia blushed. He looked decidedly uncomfortable, scratching the back of his head with his free hand and looking away from France.

"I dunno..." he muttered "When I'm with him, I feel... Warm and cold and happy and scared and... I feel like I'm the most fragile I've ever been, but it's okay because he'd never do a thing to hurt me. I like how we can not see each other in months, but when we do it's like 'yeah, y'know' and... And the way his eyes light up when he laughs and how his accent changes when he's drunk and how his ears go red when he's embarrassed... I dunno, lots of stuff..." he covered his tomato-red face in his free hand "God, what are you making me say?"

France stayed patient, thumb still caressing the back of his hand.

"You know," he said finally "I remember when Britain was little, 'e 'ad it very 'ard - 'e 'ad no shoes, no warm coat, not even a proper 'ome, 'is brothers were very cruel and 'e was a target for many other nations... But 'e would look up me with those big eyes full of defiance, no matter 'ow 'urt or 'ungry 'e was, eyes that always said 'I will not be beaten'..." he sighed as he reminisced "I can understand 'ow Spain could fall for Britain after 'e became so strong, 'aving overcome so much. 'Is relationship with your brother, all those years ago, made sense as 'e became more reliable and good at business."

He smiled at Prussia as he listened quietly - despite what people thought, the albino was a good listener, when it was important.

"I 'ave seen 'im adapt, again and again as times 'ave changed. 'Ow else could a little island 'ave become so powerful, if 'e could not adapt? To Spain, 'e was powerful and dangerous and exciting... To China, 'e must 'ave been domineering and strong and cunning. To you, I imagine 'e is a good and loyal friend with oom you can laugh and share secrets."

"What are you saying?" Prussia interrupted.

He stayed patient.

"Spain knew," he went on "That 'is Britain was only a small part of Britain, that's why 'e kept 'is feelings to 'imself, even though it 'urt 'im so, for so long. But my Britain... My Britain is every Britain, all the good and bad sides."

"What makes you think mine isn't?" Prussia defended.

France smiled again, although his heart was heavy. It may take hours, he thought, but he would make him understand.

* * *

"We can't take this lying down." Germany announced "First the hotel, then the pig, now this. These are deliberate attacks on Frances person!"

"It will be easy enough to find out which nations are still in the country." Hungary agreed.

"If it even is a nation." Austria wondered.

"No way." France shuddered "It's like something out of an 'orror movie."

"Finished unpacking." Prussia announced as he and Spain came down the stairs.

"Are you sure you want to stay?" Germany asked his brother "It could make you a target too."

"Of course, it's not safe for him to be alone right now."

"_Si_, friends stand by each other." Spain agreed.

"_Mon ami_… you two are better than I deserve!"

"Yes, that's true." Prussia said right away.

Britain sat on the sofa, arms crossed, staring at his shoes. His stomach was doing backflips, his mind reeling. Why was nothing ever simple? Just when he had made his feelings clear to everyone… Who was targeting France now? If he had to, he'd put his money on China, but it still didn't feel like it fit. Spain and Prussia had put off their return home, moving into Frances spare rooms, even when their friends and relatives objected. Despite the weeks events, they had rallied like true friends. Must be nice.

Frances phone went off again. He regarded it with fear and suspicion. Every five minutes, like clockwork, he got a new message. He had stopped checking what they said. He startled as the doorbell went. Spain answered for him, coming back with a confused expression.

"_Amigo_, you order some fish?" he asked.

"I didn't order anything." France confirmed.

They went to the door. In Frances driveway stood a refrigerated van, two men unloading crate after crate of fish into his garden while another stood at his door, clipboard in hand, looking pissed.

"You are Monsieur F Bonnefoy, are you not?" he pointed out, exasperated "We got the order from you this morning for a rush delivery! It was a lot of work getting this together at short notice, you know!"

"I didn't order any fish." France repeated quietly, taken aback as the crates piled up.

The driver got angry. Germany pulled him aside to take care of the problem while Spain and Prussia pulled him back inside. His phone went off again.

* * *

"I was always scared 'e would become taller than me." France went on, sat back against the metal frame on the bed "I know that's a silly thing to be afraid of, but 'is brothers are all taller than me. I wanted to keep 'im smaller than me. The stronger 'e got, the more I willed it. The very first time 'e defeated me in battle, I was shocked. The first time we met, 'e was standing in a river up to 'is knees, only wearing 'is underwear. 'E was so skinny and pale, I was sure 'e must have been sick…" he laughed bitterly "'E took one look at me and ran away – 'e thought I was going to attack 'im, like everyone else did. 'E was a scared little rabbit back then."

Prussia hugged his knees, eyes trained on Frances face. He had never heard stories of Britains childhood, or seen this reminiscing side of France. He was determined not to be convinced, but still he was curious.

"'E broke into my camp in the middle of the night to get 'is clothes and weapons back. No matter what I said to 'im, 'e wouldn't believe that I meant 'im not 'arm. I couldn't understand it, until I saw 'ow his brothers treated 'im. I was a big brother myself then… I couldn't imagine being so cruel. I wanted to show 'im that big brothers could be kind and take care of their youngers, but 'e wouldn't let me close. 'E wouldn't believe me." He laughed bitterly again "I suppose 'e was right – it wasn't long before I 'ad conquered 'im. I thought if I forced 'im to spend time with me, I could make 'im see. Hmph, the mistakes of youth. Looking back, I suppose I wanted 'im to be like Canada, back when 'e was small, always following me around and smiling so sweetly and calling me 'papa!'" he laughed "Or 'big brother', anyway. Even Canada I failed – Britain 'ad to take him from me so 'e wouldn't starve."

He ran his hand through his hair, the chill of his blonde locks contrasting with the heat of his head, and sighed miserably.

"It took me a while to realise that Britain didn't 'ate me. A couple 'undred years, actually. We were always fighting. Sometimes I won, sometimes 'e did, but we always fought. Then I became ill." His heart grew heavy as he looked back "I was fighting so much in Europe, my body couldn't take it. I just wanted to stop, but my bosses forced me to back to Britain to fight again. I just couldn't do it. I collapsed, long before I got to the battle. When I woke up, Britain was taking care of me. I wasn't even in chains, I was so weak." He smiled "That's when I knew 'e didn't 'ate me. 'E still called me an idiot and told me to shut up, but 'e took care of me all the same. Our relationship was sure strange."

France shivered from the cold. Prussia was starting to feel it himself, and patted the bed beside him. With a grateful smile, France shifted on the bed and sat beside him, covering his legs with the duvet.

"This is touching and all." Prussia admitted "But I don't see what it has to do with that's going on now. Or why I should just give Britain to you, for that matter."

"Hm," France seemed to agree "You remember 'ow things were back then, always at war. It was 'ard."

"I liked it."

"I 'ave no doubt." France laughed "You were made for fighting – you get up to mischief otherwise."

Prussia snorted in laughter – France was right.

"You know, I think you started to calm down when you became a big brother." France admitted "Even though you 'ad to fight to protect 'im, you were a different person when you were with 'im. Back then, I wanted my relationship with Britain to be that close, but of course it was impossible. Britain was too stubborn and proud – I was too, of course, but I still wanted to be a good example, lead the way for 'im to follow… but before I knew it, I was the one following 'im. I wonder when that 'appened… when did 'e become stronger than I, and what was I doing that I didn't notice?"

"Tell me about it." Prussia agreed "One minute Germany was little and needed me to protect him, then I turn around and he's tall and brawny and an actual super power."

France laughed.

"Canada was worse." He argued "I didn't even 'ave time to turn around – all I did was blink and 'e was 6 foot tall." He sighed "But Britain… he never got to be taller than me, but 'e got stronger. So much stronger. When I realised I loved him… If I recall correctly, I think it was after Dunkirk. As the boats came back across the channel, everyone was looking for their loved ones. I spent 5 days looking for Britain – 'e was soaking wet, carrying another soldier 'oo 'ad 'is eyes bandaged. I think that was the first time… the first time 'e let me 'old 'im. I just threw my arms around 'im, I didn't even think about it, but 'e didn't push me away. 'E almost collapsed in my arms. I spent a week nursing 'im back to 'ealth."

Prussia leant back against the headboard so he was level with France, watching the solemn expression on his face.

"The strong Britain, the weak Britain." He muttered "The wise Britain, the drunk Britain. They're all mine. I love all of them. When he came to take care of me again when I 'ad the flu, I couldn't stand the idea of watching 'im walk away from me again. I know its selfish, but I 'ad to catch 'im, I 'ad to 'old 'im before he got so far away that I couldn't touch 'im anymore."

Frances eyes started to water. He wrapped his arms around himself.

"I'm sorry I 'urt you, Prussia." He whimpered as the tears started to fall "But I couldn't stand to be alone anymore. The world is not at war the way it once was, and it just made me realise 'ow alone I 'ave been. I 'ave no close family and my children are so far away… I clung to Britain more and more, until I could no longer let 'im go. I've loved 'im so long, and now I finally 'ave 'is love in return… If I 'ave to let 'im grow, I know I won't be able to live."

Prussia put his arms around France, pulling him into an embrace. France cried into his shoulder, knowing he didn't need to hold back as he felt Prussias own tears fall on his cheeks.

* * *

Ireland tapped his foot impatiently on the ground, his coffee untouched on the wrought iron table before him. Britain stared at his tea, ignoring the hustle and bustle of the shoppers around him.

"_This_ is why I can't go home?" Ireland spat at him.

"I'm not stopping you leaving." Britain pointed out just as bitterly "Get the next puddle jumper if you want, I don't care."

"Don't be daft, I'm not leaving you here, little brother. Although, if I have to eat any more garlic, I may just be sick."

"Be sick in the other direction."

Ireland laughed through his nose, uncrossing his arms and taking a sip from his coffee.

"Are you sure you should be leaving your little frog alone?" he asked.

"Spain and Prussia are with him at his place. It was feeling kind of crowded in there."

"Aye, I imagine it would. It's bad enough at Christmas when we get together with Scotland and Wales, and that's just for the day. That many personalities in one place would piss me off right good."

"It's not so bad." Britain insisted "Just like any other world meeting."

"Then what's got you so down, laddy?" Ireland asked.

"What?" Britain grumbled "France is being targeted by a lunatic! Isn't that reason enough to be upset?!"

"Depends on how you look at it."

Britain grumbled and stuffed a biscuit into his mouth – his relationship with his brother was difficult, he didn't want to say anything to make it worse.

"So, that's where America gets it." His brother teased regardless.

Britain uttered some profanities, muffled by his mouthful of biscuit. Ireland laughed at him, putting his coffee down.

"You're overthinking this." Ireland told him "This whole mess is because of how complicated you're all making it."

"What do you mean?" Britain asked as he cleared his mouth with his tea.

"Well, France is being targeted because he's with you, right?"

"Yes."

"So leave him." Ireland said like it was obvious "No-one's in danger then."

"That's ludicrous!" Britain swore at him "I'm not going to leave France! I will not give in to this terrorist!"

"Hm." Ireland said simply, letting the idea hang in the air like the uncomfortable truth it was.

* * *

The whole street was clogged with people, blocking the road and pathways. The nearby cars had been cleared, in their place standing the imposing, brick red fire trucks. The afternoon sky shrunk back in shame against the brightness of the fire that engulfed Frances house. Its three inhabitants stood, dirty but unharmed, on the other side of the street among the crowds, watching it burn. Frances face betrayed his devastation as he saw his home of hundreds of years disappear before his eyes.

Spotting Britain approach, he threw off the blanket that covered him and threw himself into his arms, tears streaming down his face. As France buried his face in Britains hair and cried, the smaller man looked back at the building, and couldn't help but notice the graffiti, scrawled in bright red on the outside wall.

'Mine.'

* * *

France managed to sleep in the end. He never did like these hotel beds. He was still tired when he awoke, his whole body aching from stress and fatigue. Feeling sorry for himself, he reached across the bed to put his arms around Britain. He wasn't there.

His eyes flew open. The whole room was empty.

"Britain?"

He wasn't in the bathroom. His clothes and shoes were gone. Whatever force bought Frances attention to the window must have been cruel indeed, as he looked out with just enough time to see Britain climb into the car.

* * *

"Take that look of your face, little brother." Ireland scolded "It's the right thing to do."

Britain couldn't share his brothers sentiment – his heart was shattering, his shoulders heavy. He couldn't keep his head up as he handed his passport to the woman at the counter. This was the right thing to do. It had to be. If it wasn't, it wouldn't be so hard. The painful lump in his throat swelled further as he fought back the tears.

Seeing him getting emotional, Ireland put his arm around his brothers shoulders.

"Come on, lad, let's go." He insisted, leading him through to customs.

* * *

France ran like he hadn't in years, sides aching like they had been split, lungs heaving, no air enough to fill them. His shoes weren't made for running, slapping heavily on the airports linoleum floor. Where was he going? How long did he have? Was he going the right way? He had to find him. He had to find him! He got to the terminal, nearly knocking a family off their feet as he desperately searched.

"Britain!" he screamed into the crowd "Britain!"

He saw him. He saw Ireland first, his bright red hair standing out amongst the blondes and brunettes, with his arm around Britains shoulders. They were leaving. They were going through the gate!

"Britain!" France screamed again, louder than he thought he had even screamed in his life.

The blonde looked back. He had heard him! He had seen him! His green eyes locked on him a moment. One moment. One single, immortal, fleeting moment. Those green eyes started to swell. With a tug from Ireland, he turned away.

"Britain…?"

He walked away, his back receding into the crowd.

"Bri…"

France raced forward.

"Britain!"

Someone grabbed him from behind, holding him from storming the gate as desperate tears burst from his eyes.

"Britain! BRITAIN!"

He started screaming, his legs giving way as he and his holder fell to the hard, cold floor. Prussia held him desperately as he writhed and screamed. Spain covered his mouth with his hands, crying and panting, frustrated and useless.

"BRITAIN!" France cried "BRITAIN!"

* * *

Ok... Hands up, who hates me?


	18. Epilogue: All Tied Up

You know you've written something terrible when your feels are still hurting the next morning :C Seriously, the end of that chapter nearly made me cry, and I knew it was coming! On the other hand, it's the chapter with the most reviews I've ever gotten, so maybe I should be awful more often?

Or not. My feels couldn't handle it.

Because I'm a terrible person, I like heart-breaking endings where everthing's left up in the air and devastated (for which I blame so many years of reading CLAMP), but I appreciate that's not true of everyone, and to be honest, my heart could use some TLC after that last chapter, so for a limited time only, I'm introducing 2 BONUS chapters.

Since I care about my readers and their feels, the first bonus chapter will be Epilogue: All Tied Up (but if you're reading this then you already know that). The second bonus chapter will be a 'what if?' chapter, where I speculate how things might have gone if Britain had chosen differently.

Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to reread 'Sometimes…' until I feel better (curls into a ball in the corner and cries).

* * *

**Epilogue: All Tied Up.**

"Get up."

"Get lost."

"Go to work."

"Go to hell!"

Britain pulled the sheets further over his head, holding them down like a rowdy child refusing to go to school. At the end of his bed, Scotland and Wales were growing increasingly less patient.

"Fucking hell." Scotland complained "Ireland finally brings the boy back and he's in this state!"

"Shoulda gone over there ourselves." Wales reasoned.

"Alright, you take left, I'll take right."

Each brother grabbed a foot, unceremoniously hauling their little brother from his bed and onto the floor with a heavy thud, dragging the blankets with him. He swore loudly at them, which resulted in him being dragged out the room on his arse, only stopping when the flesh of his back met the carpet of the hallway. Scotland grabbed the blankets and hauled them away, grimacing right in his brothers face.

"Urgh, just when I thought you couldn't get any uglier." He moaned.

Of course Britain was a state – his eyes were red and swollen above dark black bags, cheeks puffy and pallid, and no doubt his nose was running too. He hadn't combed his hair, or for that matter bathed, in at least a week.

"Go fuck yourself!" he swore at his brother, throat hoarse from days of crying "Go choke on a haggis!"

"What manner of insult is that for 'Great' Britain, anyway?" Scotland smirked.

Britain glared at him – all he wanted was to be left alone with his misery, thank you very much, his brothers were the last thing he wanted to deal with. Scotland grabbed both ankles, hauling Britains legs into the air and leaving his shoulders on the ground. The blonde swore enthusiastically and kicked to break free.

"Wales, mate, don't be an arse."

"Sorry, sorry, weren't paying attention."

Wales grabbed Britain under the arms and hauled him up completely off the ground. Stuck between a rock-head and a hard-head, Britain stopped struggling.

"I hate you both."

"Aye, I imagine so."

Scotland kicked open the front door, and the two continued to carry him all the way to work, despite the fact he was clad in nothing but his boxers and vest.

* * *

He was soaking wet when he returned – having refused to stay at work, his brothers had thrown him in the Thames. They cackled maniacally to each other as the passing bobby told them off sternly. His brothers hadn't bothered to lock the door as they hauled him away, so he trudged in unimpeded by his lack of keys. The smell of coffee that met him as he closed the door only served to piss him off more.

"FUCK!" He screamed into the house, hoping to signal to its brewer that he was very much not in the mood for company.

America stuck his head around the kitchen door. Something as subtle as screaming profanities wasn't going to cut it.

"Dude, why are you all wet?" he asked in his usual manner.

"You are _never_ allowed to complain about your childhood!" was the answer as he tore off his sopping vest and threw it to the ground.

"What?"

America noticeably blushed, starting to look everywhere but at Britain.

"You really shouldn't go outside in your underwear." He mumbled.

"What do you want?!" Britain practically screamed at him.

"I made coffee!" America announced happily.

"I don't care! Go home!"

"Hey now, I came all this way to see you!"

Britain marched past America and down the hall, determined to go back to bed and not come out ever ever ever ever again. He didn't even care that he was wet. He just wanted to wrap himself in a cocoon of blankets and sleep forever. America, observant of the mood as he ever is, followed him down the hall.

"So, why are you wet?"

"I went swimming." Britain spat.

"In your vest and underwear? Is that a British thing?"

"Go away."

"Hey-"

Britain slammed the bedroom door in his face, cursing as he remembered the pile of blankets that lay in the hallway. He thought about going back out for them, but he really didn't want to face America.

"Dude, I have your sheets." He pointed out.

"Keep them!"

"Why are you in such a bad mood?"

"Why are you here?"

"I heard you broke up with France."

"AND YOU WONDER WHY I'M A BAD MOOD?!"

With a strangled cry of frustration, Britain pulled on his flannel robe and collapsed back onto his bed, covering his head with as many pillows as it took to drown out the sound of America complaining on the other side of the door. Why couldn't the world just fuck off and leave him to his misery? After a moment, the complaining grew louder before stopping entirely. Starting to hope he had gotten bored and left, Britain became yet more vexed as he felt a weight settle itself beside him on the bed. He threw the pillows off, ready to give the bloody git a piece of his mind, but stopped short. It wasn't America on the bed.

It was France. He looked composed – far more composed than Britain was, that's for sure – and looked at Britain calmly. He tilted his head to the side and wordlessly reached over and wiped some dirt from Britains face.

"I can't remember the last time I saw you like this." He said quietly.

Britain was speechless. What could he say? There was nothing, nothing he had any right to say. He felt that familiar lump rise again in his throat. France smiled gently.

"_Lapin,_ don't cry."

He dove into Frances arms. He couldn't stop himself. France gently wrapped his arms around him as those familiar tears poured forth.

* * *

"You should leave."

France ignored him, pouring the tea at the counter as Britain sat, still in his bathrobe, at the kitchen table.

"Did you hear me?" he said a little louder.

"Oui, I 'eard you." France confirmed "I 'ave just chosen to ignore it. Where do you keep your biscuits, _cheri_?"

"In the bread bin… you really ought to leave, you know."

"Hmm, I think not." France disagreed as he laid the tea and biscuits on the table "I'm staying 'ere." He laughed as he smiled at Britain "My 'ouse burned down, remember?"

Britain grimaced at the memory.

"All the more reason you should avoid me."

"Hmm, no." France disagreed again as he picked up his tea.

Britain stared at him a moment – how could he be so happy? He smiled to himself as he sipped his drink.

"I know what you are going to say." The Frenchman predicted "And the answer is 'no.'"

"I didn't say anything."

France smiled at him again.

"'My dearest France, are you not afraid of the person oo is threatening your life?'" he imitated "'Do you not feel you would be better off without this troublesome person beside you?' The answer, as I said, is 'no.'"

"You're not afraid?" Britain asked, supposing that if he wasn't afraid then he should surely be mad.

"Of course I am." France admitted "But it is far worse to be alone than to be afraid."

"You aren't alone." Britain pointed out "You have Prussia and Spain."

"Oui, but they must go 'ome eventually. They cannot squat with me in 'otels until I find a new place to live."

"Why don't you stay with one of them at their place?"

"Because I do not wish to."

France finished his tea, placing the mug back down.

"A break-up only works if both parties agree to it." France pointed out "And I refuse to be left."

"I can't protect you." Britain said flatly.

"I don't need you to protect me." Was the reply "Just be with me. Everything else will fall into line."

France continued to smile calmly, taking Britains hand and squeezing it reassuringly.

"_Lapin_," he finished "You smell really bad."

"You know where the ferry is."

* * *

With his house having gone up in flames, France didn't have much to unpack and find a place for in Britains drawers and cupboards. He would have to go shopping. He was certain that the only clothes he would find here in Britain would be hideous, but he didn't want to go back to the continent for a while. He was going to stay here in this dreary isle, wrap himself up in a fleece blanket and sit beside the fire with Britain and sleep this whole sorry affair off like the nightmare it was.

His hands wouldn't stop shaking. His heart was still pounding cruelly in his fragile chest. The sound of the shower in the en suite was soothing – it was close, and he was close. He had played over and over in his mind all the horrible things that could have been said and rehearsed his answers perfectly, but his preparation had come to nought. Britain hadn't kicked him out, hadn't said he never wanted to see him, hadn't said he couldn't love him... It had been so hard to stop himself from crying as they sat at the table, but seeing that state Britain was in… somehow, it was soothing. What a terrible thing to think.

Whatever cruel force that brought his attention to the window those few mornings ago seemed to wish to atone, as once again his attention was drawn to the window. On the street below was a sight to behold: Spain ran down the street, waving a large pair of jeans like a flag. America hurtled after him, trouserless, with a triumphant Prussia on his back. Through the old glass panes, France could swear he heard him cry 'heigh ho silver, away!' France chuckled to himself.

"What are those idiots doing?" Britain muttered beside him, causing him to jump "He's going to catch his death without his trousers."

Clean and warm, he looked far more composed than before, even as he towelled his mussy straw hair dry. France, still shaky and desperate for confirmation, put his arm around Britains shoulders, and his heart threatened to fly out his throat when he didn't shrug him off or pull away.

"They are just, you know, doing what they do."

* * *

It was some time later before any nation could stomach to have a meeting again, and even then they approached the matter with much trepidation. This time the meeting was at Spains place, so at least it was warm, and the friendly inviting locals (eager for tourists money) made them feel right at home. Getting money out of some of the nations was of course going to harder than others, and Switzerland was definitely not going to buy one of those obnoxious straw donkeys, not matter what Lichtenstein said. Austria agreed whole heartedly, paling when he beheld a plastic violin painted in the colours of the Spanish flag, causing his wife to chuckle.

The nations gathered haphazardly in the plaza in front of the meeting hall, gossiping and comparing burn marks from the last time they got together. Spain tried his best to play host, although his thoughts – as those of many others – were on the world cup semi-final going on while they were stuck in meetings.

"I can't believe I'm missing it." He whined.

"Oh stop your bellyaching, it's not like you're going to win anyway." Romano pointed out.

"Don't take my dreams, Romano!"

"Well well well, look who decided to show up!" Prussia announced, pulling off his tie for the fourth time that day "It's the newlyweds!"

"Blame this idiot." Britain said as he and France approached them "He decided we didn't need the sat nav."

"I knew where we were going!" France insisted.

"We went in circles for half an hour!"

"We did not!"

"We passed that church five times!"

"It was not five times!"

"Some things never change." Spain chuckled.

"Don't joke about them being newlyweds!" Romano warned "You want to start another incident?!"

"It's no joke, Romano!" France declared, grabbing up Britains hand to show off their matching bands "Two men getting married is legal in Britain, you know!"

"It's a civil partnership." Britain muttered.

"To-may-to, to-mah-to." France quipped "Now can we please get out of this god forsaken 'eat, it is doing 'orrible things to my 'air!"

The group chuckled and sauntered off towards the meeting room, unaware of the eyes watching them in the crowd. Britain looked at France as he felt him squeeze his hand and stick close to him, seeing the nervous expression on his face.

In the crowd, he saw China and Russia stood together – upon meeting their eyes, China noticeably huffed and turned away, and Russia playfully looked at his watch. A little further down, Canada and Japan stood wearing matching ties and chatting with Cuba, America sulking next to them. He took one look at Britain and France and stormed off in the other direction, surprising his brother and Japan, but seeing the reason why, let him go.

Britain squeezed Frances hand reassuringly. At the other side of the plaza, Seychelles collected her winnings from Hungary and Belgium. As the rowdy group passed Germany, he stepped forward, only to be stopped by Italy, who grabbed his arm. He looked back into his hazel eyes, which were nervous, but serious.

"No more." He said certainly "You promised."

Germany grimaced, but Italy stayed strong. The blonde backed down, standing beside him again and watching France and Britain enter the building with his brother and Spain, hand in hand.

* * *

It was a short epilogue, but I think my heart is healed a little... Please look forward to the last entry in this tale (and I really mean it!) where we explore what could have been if Britain had chosen someone else.


	19. Voting Results

The votes are in! I gave my readers a chance to tell me what story they wanted to see next, and now 'Mine' is concluding, it's time to reveal the winner!

**1. The World is One with Russia 4 Votes**

Russia rules the world. All nations, bar America, have succumb to his influence, and have no choice but to bow to his iron fist for the sake of their people. America alone stands in opposition, and he will free the world! Afterall, he's the hero!

**2. Three's a Crowd 2 Votes**

Rowdy Gilbert and tomboy Elizavetta grew up together. They always got into trouble together, fought together, laughed together, and Gilbert thought it would always be that way, but when Elizavetta meets dashing young Roderich – the first man to ever treat her like a lady – things start to change.

**3. I'll Find My Own Place 2 Votes**

Sequel to 'In Your Place' – Despite years of research, America can't find a way to undo Russias spell, and it's driven him half mad, wondering what could have been. With the help of his brother Canada, he starts to move forward, and find his own place in the world.

**4. The Man Who Wasn't There 2 Votes**

Arthur Kirkland moves into a new house with his young twin boys, Alfred and Matthew, after their mother dies. The Kirkland line has always been full of psychics and exorcists, but after what happened to his wife, Arthur is keen to keep his boys away from that world. That world, however, has its own ideas.

**5. Wildcard ** **2 Votes**

Okay, totally cheating here, I know. Do you have a story you'd like to see written? Pitch me an idea! It does a mind good to get out of its comfort zone. If your idea seems interesting – even if its just a drabble – I look forward to hearing it!

Clear winner here! I'll be honest, it was my favourite idea too. Want to change the outcome? Drop me a vote in the next 3 days!


	20. Chapter 20 Bonus Chapter

****As promised, have a pointless bonus chapter. I wanted to put some smut in here, but... well, I hope you enjoy it regardless. Each segment is no more than a few paragraphs, otherwise I'd have several new stories on my hands!

So, how would Britains life have been different if he had chosen...?

* * *

**Spain.**

"HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?!"

"YOU'RE ASKING ME!?"

"YOU WERE THERE!"

"I WAS DRUNK!"

The infant screamed louder, shrill enough to almost shatter the old glass windows of Spains house. Britain grabbed her up and started bouncing her up and down, trying to get her to stop, while Spain grabbed her rattle, a tea towel and her bottle.

"Hey, hey, little angel!" Spain sang as he shook the rattle in her face "Are you hungry, sweetheart? Daddy has some milk for you!"

"If anything you're the mother." Britain mumbled, still bouncing her and patting her back.

"What's that, blondie?!" Spain spat, chucking the rattle at his head.

The infant laughed at the rattle hit her father between the eyes. The two men looked at her. She stopped giggling and looked back at them expectantly. Looking at each other a moment, Britain sighed.

"Go on then."

The baby laughed again as Spain threw the bottle at Britains head.

Everything was silent, and it better bloody stay that way, or two very angry and tired ex-pirates were going to reacquaint themselves with their sabres. As the orange glow of twilight engulfed the villa, Britain took a good look at the infant nation – she had blonde hair and green eyes like him, but the hair was curly and her skin was a rich tan. Britains sleep-deprived brain couldn't comprehend this – where on earth had she come from?

Spain tip-toed into the room, but with everything so quiet he might as well have marched in blowing a vuvuzela. Britain glared at him and he smiled apologetically, placing the house phone back its cradle.

"It seems an island off the coast has become inhabited." He whispered "All the residents are Spanish and British ex-pats. They're claiming their independence already, and they don't even have electricity yet! People sure are strange."

"Claiming to be a country doesn't make you one." Britain whispered back.

"Tell that to Sealand." Was Spains answer.

Britain sighed as Spain sat on the sofa beside him, gently enough not to rock it and wake the slumbering tot.

"Well, what do we do now?" Britain wondered "She doesn't even have a name yet."

"She'll tell us what it is when she's older." Spain reasoned "Until then we can just call her 'Angel.'"

"No we bloody won't."

Spain laughed quietly, kissing Britain gently in the twilight.

"We'll think of something." He whispered.

"I- shit she's awake! Get the rattle!"

* * *

**Prussia.**

"Wow…so that's…"

"Yeah."

"And you just?"

"Yup."

"Wow."

Prussia stared at the ceiling – his face was still bright red. Britain really wanted a cigarette, but he was trying to cut back. Seeing Prussias cheeks still flushed, Britain reached over and brushed his cheek playfully. Prussia startled, head flipping around to him, then smiled, laughing awkwardly.

"So that's what I've been missing all these years." He supposed.

"Well… a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell." Britain assured.

Prussia turned over to his side, putting his arms around Britains torso and pulling him close.

"It's not what I was expecting." He admitted "But it was really… something! Actually…" he looked Britain in the eye "Who did you lose your virginity to?"

Britain couldn't look him in the eye, quickly find the wall extremely interesting.

"So about the concert later…" he distracted.

Prussia pouted, pinching Britains nose and turning his face back.

"Don't change the subject." He sulked.

"I don't see why you'd want to know." Britain said honestly.

Prussia sighed through his nose, releasing Britains and putting his arm around his torso again.

"I dunno." He admitted "I just want to know everything about you, I guess."

He put his head down on Britains chest and relaxed. Britain put his arm around Prussias shoulders, which seemed to make him happy.

"You don't have to tell me." He decided "Now, anyway. I'll find out eventually. Hey," he looked back at Britains face "We never did go to Disneyland. How about it?"

"This one this one this one!"

"No way, Space Mountain next!"

"Space Mountain's for losers! This one's AWESOME!"

The two rushed about like a couple of teenagers, rowdy even as they waited in the lines for rides, harassing the costumed workers and stuffing their faces with oddly shaped and horrendously expensive junk food.

"Oh my god, this is disgusting!" Britain declared with glee after eating a mouthful of curry flavoured popcorn.

"Look, this burger is shaped like mickey mouse!" Prussia pointed out.

The sun was shining, and it was warm without being hot, so the park was full of families and young couples. As they ran to catch the parade, Prussia stumbled and started coughing. He covered his mouth with his hand and tried not to bend over double as the coughing shook his whole body. He finally managed to stop, closing his palm immediately to hide the blood from a watching Britain. A pointless gesture, of course.

Walking over, Britain took his hand, kissing him gently on the mouth as the crowd rushed around them.

"Come on," he urged, squeezing his hand and leading him gently away "Let's go ride 'Pirates of the Caribbean.'"

* * *

**China.**

"Keep up now!" China ordered "We have a long way to go and there's still more things we need to buy."

Behind him, the large pile of boxes and bags on legs that was once Britain grumbled. The smaller pile of boxes and bags that was Hong Kong laughed bitterly.

"Can't Macau carry some of these?" he asked.

"No." China said certainly "He is keeping hold of the money."

Hong Kong glared at his brother, who just smiled at him.

"I heard that." China announced "You'll get your tea when we're done shopping, Britain. We still needs to go to Wengs to pick up the dry cleaning, Laos to get soap powder, Lis to get the chicken and Fas to get the beef, then-"

"Can't we just go to the supermarket?" Britain suggested.

"Don't be ludicrous!" China chastised.

"Of course." Britain muttered.

"I heard that."

"Teacher, my arms are getting tired." Hong Kong continued to complain.

"Ai-ya, you are such a spoilt child! Fine, give them to your father then!"

"Wait, what?"

Hong Kong immediately unloaded his burden on Britain, who started to stumble under the strain.

"Thank, dad."

"You bloody brat!"

"Don't raise your voice at our son!" China chastised again "You're Great Britain, the nation who repelled the entire Axis almost single-handedly, this much should be easy for you!"

"That's all well and good, but I wasn't trying to defeat the Germans while being blinded by a mountain of cardboard!"

"Oh for goodness sake."

China marched up to him, grabbed the buckle on his belt (as his arms were busy, we can assume) and started pulling him along the street, much to his displeasure.

"Wait, what? Hang on! Stop! This is most unorthodox!"

"So tell me about the war." Hong Kong urged his father, putting his hand on his shoulders and almost pushing him as China pulled "Is it true you stopped shooting at Christmas to play football?"

"Right now?!"

"If you have energy to talk, you have energy to carry more boxes!"

Macau just smiled as he followed them down the high street, chuckling occasionally as the combination of pushing and pulling threatened to sweep the island nation off his feet.

Finally, some peace and quiet! Britain sat back in the tub, the almost scolding water soothing his aching muscles as the smell of jasmine calmed his mind. China was demanding, his multitude of brothers and sisters exhausting, and since it was New Year, they were ALL at big brothers place for the holiday. Since he and Japan were a couple, Canada was also there, standing a good head and shoulders over everyone else even when he was slouching – the two wore matching red hoodies against the winters cold. Britain was impressed – China had cooked for _all_ his siblings, including taking the time to make things he knew each individual one liked. It must have cost a fortune.

But if anyone could spend a fortune, it was China. Britain felt like he could drown in this ludicrous bathtub – this bathroom was about the same size as his kitchen back home! Still, there had to be some advantages to being over 4000 years old, and having an absurdly large house seemed to be one of them. Sure, Britain knew Chinas house was big, but each sibling had their own room! His house felt like a shed in comparison. That being said, he would never again complain about his own siblings – at least he almost never saw the fuckers! China was constantly talking to his, even the ones that didn't live with him, taking them out for meals and shopping and going to see plays, and he paid for ALL of it. The idea of Scotland paying for anything more than a round at the pub was laughable.

The bathroom door opened, causing Britain to groan audibly – he just wanted five minutes! Why was Japan the only one who ever knocked?! The blonde looked around to see China enter the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind him, sighing.

"This time of year is exhausting." He complained "That lot is so rowdy!"

"You could always just not invite them." Britain pointed out.

China pouted at him angrily.

"What a western attitude!" he criticised "No wonder your relationship with your brothers is so poor!"

"I can assure you that's not the reason."

China laughed through his nose and locked the door behind him with a 'click.' Britain still wasn't sure how these damn sliding doors locked, or he would have done it himself! China smirked and licked his lips, taking his hair out of its ponytail. With a tug on the belt, the crimson silk robe slipped off his narrow shoulders. Britains body immediately went hot and he turned away. China just laughed again as he walked to the tub.

"Trying to be a gentleman again?" he teased "Silly boy."

"What do you mean 'boy'?"

Britain startled a little as China got into the tub with him, wrapping his arms around his neck and resting against his torso.

"This time of year is exhausting." He complained again, fingering Britains hair "Baths are sooo nice."

China licked his lips again before stealing Britains. With an internal sigh, he resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't going to get five minutes to himself, now or in the foreseeable future.

* * *

**Russia.**

"You don't have to take off your scarf." Britain reasoned "But I'm begging you, for the love of god, take off your damn coat!"

"Why's that?" Russia asked.

"Aren't you hot?! I'm dying just looking at you!"

Even in jeans and a t-shirt, the humidity in the greenhouse was making Britain sweat buckets, but Russia still refused to take off his scarf and long coat – it was drawing the attention of many of the other tourists that milled about the Eden Project that day.

"I'm okay." Russia swore.

"Like hell you are!"

The two walked about idly in the June sunshine, admiring the plethora of exotic flora all about them. Britain had been here before, of course, but Russia had been keen to come, and he couldn't really say no to that face. In this tropical greenhouse, the further they ventured in, the hotter and more humid it became, engulfed all about with rich greens and browns and the occasional splash of bright colour.

"Do they have that flower that smells like rotting meat?" Russia asked "I've always wanted to see it."

"It's up ahead." Britain recalled "And if you don't take off that bloody coat, you're going to pass out."

"I'll be fine." Russia swore again "I think I see it! Let's go see!"

Russia ran off, much to Britains horror.

"Ah! Stop, you idiot!"

Russia lay on his back, head on Britains lap, ice pack pressed against his forehead as Britian fanned him. It was much cooler outside, and a pleasant breeze lolled over the area. Three ice-cold bottles of water as helped, but Russia was still red-faced and sweating.

"Hate to say I told you so."

"Then please don't."

"Oh for gods sake, take off this damn coat!"

Britain grabbed the fastenings on Russia coat to undo it, but the large man freaked out and grabbed his hands.

"Stop stop stop!" he begged.

"What's wrong with you?" Britain chastised, hands captured "You're sweating buckets here! What's the point of drinking all that water if you're just going to sweat it out?"

Russias face flushed further, lips quivering a little as his violet eyes stared at Britain.

"I'm… embarrassed." He admitted.

"About what?" Britain asked.

"I'm pudgy." Russia said quietly.

"What's that?"

Russia seemed genuinely upset.

"You're always giving America a hard time about his weight." He pointed out "I'm bigger even than him. I'm trying to slim down but it's not so easy. That's why…"

Britain could have laughed. Was he serious? Russia seemed surprised when he chuckled.

"I give America a hard time because of his appalling diet." Britain admitted "All he eats is crap! That's why he's getting fat. It's true that you're bigger, but seeing the way you eat I'm sure it's not because of your diet." He smiled reassuringly "I don't care if you're a little on the big side, Russia. Just as long as you're not passing out from heat stroke!"

Russia regarded him a moment, searching his face of signs of un-truth, but none were forthcoming. Reluctantly, he sat up, peeling off the tan suede coat and putting it aside.

"Shall we put that in the car?" Britain offered.

"No." Russia decided as his put his head back on Britains lap "I'm happy here."

Russia folded his hands over his stomach like he was trying to push it down and closed his eyes. It was adorable really – he was built big naturally, so it didn't really look like he carried that much extra weight. Britain chuckled to himself, finding it cute that he was so self-conscious about such a thing, and resolved not to criticise Americas weight while he was around as he recommenced fanning his flushed cheeks.

* * *

**America.**

"Hey, let's go out for dinner!" America insisted.

Britain glared at him.

"Really?"

"Sure, why not?"

Britain grimaced as a trail of Thames river water ran down the front of his face. Without another word, he marched into his bathroom to shower. Dealing with Scotland and Wales was enough for one day – throwing America in was like adding insult to injury. At a stretch, he wouldn't have minded Canada, but he could bet he had that fucking 'happy new couple' glow about him, the bastard. As the scolding hot water washed away the Thames stank, the bathroom door opened.

"So, what do you want to eat?" America asked.

"How are you so oblivious?" Britain muttered.

"What's that?"

"Get out!" Britain yelled.

"Dude, you've seen me naked." America pointed out.

"I haven't seen you naked since the last time I bathed you, and you were a little boy then!"

"Huh."

America removed his steamed over glasses, placing them beside the sink before pulling off his shirt.

"What the hell are you doing?" Britain demanded.

"Evening the score."

America climbed into the shower with Britain, much to his annoyance, especially since he was still wearing his bloody jeans!

"Now see here, what do you think you're playing at? I'm in no mood for these shenanigans!"

"You'll never take me seriously while you still see me as a kid!" America pointed out, starting to unbutton his jeans "So hurry up and see me as a man already!"

"Oh god, this must be what Spain feels like when Romano turns it on." Britain muttered to himself, growing more desperate and uncomfortable.

As America went to pull his jeans down, the bathroom door burst open again.

"Britain, you little git!"

With a bitter laugh, Britain supposed he was never happier to hear Scotlands voice. Said scot stood in the bathroom doorway, staring incredulously as his showering brother and the upstart in the process of taking off his trousers. His green eye twitched.

"First your independence, now this?!" he shrieked "Have you no shame, lad?!"

"Dude, little privacy?"

"Wales! Grab his feet!"

"Ha?"

Britain had never (ever ever) been more grateful for his brothers as they tag-teamed America, hauling him out of the house still practically naked.

"Wait, what's going on, what are you doing?!"

"Any brother of Britain is a brother of ours." Scotland growled in manic glee.

"Aye, and it's about time indoctrinated you into the family properly." Wales agreed.

"But I'm not your brother!" America insisted.

"We'll see what the Thames has to say." Scotland suggested "If you sink, you're not our brother, but if you float you are."

"What kind of logic is that?! Britain!"

"You're on your own." Britain mumbled, locking the bathroom door behind him.

* * *

**The Bad Touch Trio.**

What a mess. What was going on with those three? What were they fighting about? And why the hell did China only leave him a bloody month to arrange a royal visit?! Fuck! Finally done with princess Eugene, Britain threw his mobile into his suitcase. At least that was one problem out of the way. Now if he could just sort out this problem with France and his friends, everything would be perfect. There was a knock at the door of his hotel room. If this wasn't someone with an answer, a cup of tea of a bottle of whiskey, they were seriously going to get it.

It was the trio.

"Well, to what do I owe the honour?" he asked curtly "Have you come to apologise for being sods and ruining everyones day?"

"Something like that." France swore.

He looked at the other two – they looked sheepish and excited, hands behind their backs or in their pockets. Britain knew immediately they were up to something.

"May we come in?" France asked sweetly.

What were they after? With a groan, Britain gestured them inside. They scampered in, positioning themselves around the room – Prussia immediately jumped on his bed, Spain sat at the desk chair and France leant against the bedside table.

"So, what do you want?" Britain asked "You didn't come here just to mess up your sheets."

Spain said something, grinning to himself, but as he said it in Spanish, Britain had no idea what it meant. France cleared his throat and scowled at Spain a moment before turning to Britain with a smile.

"We came to apologise." He assured "We 'ave been be'aving terribly with this little fight of ours, but we've talked it over and we've come to a resolution."

"I should bloody well hope so." Britain said "You're all adults. It's nice to see you solving your problems without dragging anyone else in."

Britain sighed in exasperation, pulling off his tie and kicking off his shoes. At least this mess has ended quickly and he could report to the queen that there was nothing to worry about. He sat himself down on the bed, Prussia immediately pouncing on him, as was his way.

"Don't you want to know?" France asked.

"Not particularly." Britain admitted, ignoring Prussia trying to mess up his hair and chew on his ear "The less I know, the less liable I am."

"Hm, that may make things difficult." France said with a laugh.

That didn't sound good. Prussia continued to molest his head, but Britain startled when he felt his slip his limber fingers between his shirt buttons.

"What are you doing?!" he shrieked, a little shriller than he would have liked.

France grabbed his chin and turned his head around to face him, smiling, and kissed him full on the mouth. What? What? What?! On the chair, Spain laughed.

"I think we have a logistical problem." He pointed out.

"Not at all." France disagreed as he released Britains lips "'Ere, give me your 'and."

Spain got up and came closer. France took Spains and and placed it firmly on Britains crotch.

"Prussia, move over a little."

He did so, continuing to unbutton Britains shirt as Spain sat on the bed beside him, slipping his hand into the Brits trousers. Britains brain had stopped working, and it must have been clear on his face, as France laughed.

"We 'ave decided that if cannot settle it between ourselves, then we must share like good friends." He explained "I 'ave enjoyed 'aving you all to myself, but I shouldn't be selfish. Our friendship is more important."

"Eh?"

France kissed him again. Britains whole body went red, steam practically shooting out his ears and Spains hand finally reached its goal and Prussia pulled his shirt off. France licked Britains lips as he released him.

"It'll be fun to see how this works." He laughed "You can tell us to stop if you hate it, but I can guarantee that you won't."

France pulled off his tie. Britains fate was sealed.

* * *

**Russia X China.**

"Keep up, you two! We still have more shopping to do before my brothers and sisters arrive for New Years!"

The pile of boxes and bags that was Britain grumbled. The larger pile that was Russia laughed.

"Your house is quiet at New Year?" he asked.

"After Christmas, my brothers and I can't stand the sight of each other." Britain confessed.

"_Da_, it's quiet for me too." Russia agreed.

"Chinese New Year is better!" China insisted "We're just celebrating now because it's convenient for everyone."

"It's because you're busy with work." Russia whispered.

"No its not!"

China apparently had very good hearing. Russia just laughed.

"How's your back?" he asked Britian.

"It's fine." He grumbled under his boxes.

"So I wasn't too rough with you yesterday?"

Britain nearly dropped his boxes. How could he say something like that in the middle of the street?!

"Good, I'm glad." He went on "Since you're fine, we should take a bath together later. It'll be fun."

"Not until my brothers and sisters have gone to bed!" China ordered, going a little red.

Britain wondered how much more his body could take – just thinking about it made him shake slightly. Perhaps noticing, Russia took his pile of boxes, easily adding them to his own.

"I'll take these for you." He offered.

"Russia…."

"So you won't be too tired later." He finished with a smile.

Without warning, China grabbed his hand and pulled him down the street. Russia continued to smile as he followed them.

* * *

Told you it was pointless! I considered not doing it at all, but I did promise...

Anyway, thank you for reading Mine all the way to the end. I hope you enjoyed it, even when it sucked. Please look out for my next work, but if you don't like it, just remember - you voted for it!


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